Daryl's Story
by jewelle32
Summary: His childhood contains mention of physical and sexual abuse. But I want it to be a story of love and hope and overcoming obstacles. Sorry, I'm new to this and I've posted 3 stories instead of chapters so some of you are following different stories but they are all the same one.
1. Daryl's early childhood

**Daryl's Story**

**Chapter 1: Early Childhood (contains mention of child physical abuse and domestic violence)**

The classroom is dim, the curtains over the windows shutting out the bright sunlight and the heat. It's high summer and there are several mosquitoes are buzzing around the old fashioned fans spinning slowly round. It's hot in the South in summer.

Ten year old Daryl is sitting at his desk. He's barely listening to the teacher drone on, he's bored already. In front of him is the textbook he's already read from cover to cover. The page they are studying shows a diagram of a flower with the stem, petals and stamen. He devours books at school but there aren't any at home except the Family Bible and they have no money to buy more. Neither of his parents can read and they don't understand why he should want to. They say they got on fine without 'readin', his Daddy says it's only for pussy-footed whites and uppity niggers who were trying to overreach their station in life.

He's a tall for his age and skinny with brown hair and blue eyes. His older brother, Merle could read though, and had taught him from a young age, when he was at home, that is. Merle particularly liked reading the Bible and quoting it back at their father when Daddy got riled up. Although he can't read it, Daddy has memorised the entire Old Testament chapter and verse. Daddy worked as a car mechanic and did other odd jobs but still there was hardly ever enough money to put food on the table. Mama had never worked, as far as Daryl could remember and had hardly ever left her bed because she was always feeling 'delicate'. This meant she would spend most of her days sleeping, watching television while chain-smoking and sipping from her 'medicinal' flask to try to build up her strength. All this was in the hope that someday she may be able to leave her bed. She was a small, elegant, black-haired woman for all that and always 'put on her face' every day and always wore silk and lace in bed. She didn't do housework, go shopping or cook like other mothers so the men of the house did these chores. Daryl was usually the one to bring up her meals on her tray in the mornings and evenings. And when there was no money for food (which was more often than not), Merle and Daddy would have to go hunting deer and small animals or go foraging in the forest.

Mama didn't hug or kiss him and Merle like other mothers did to their children, she'd never touched him or Merle as far as he could remember. She was always feeling so '_fragile_'. He knew this because sometimes his classmates' (he wouldn't exactly call them friends) mothers would invite him round for dinner (out of pity, he realised later) and he would see how their mothers would behave. Usually, this affection was embarrassing for the boys and they would go red and squirm away. But Daryl would wonder what if felt like to have your mother touch you. Sometimes the mothers even ruffled _his_ hair and kissed him on the cheek and gave him extra food packets (_the food was only going to go to waste otherwise_) and hand-me down clothes. At least Daddy would give him a bear hug once in a while or touch his hair when he had a beer in his hand and was in a good mood. Daryl knew that his parents were ashamed of his brother. Merle had already been in trouble with the law since he turned thirteen when he'd been caught stealing smokes from the local store. Daddy gave him the whipping of his life and afterwards, Merle had shown Daryl the scars on his back. But Daddy had never beaten Daryl _like that_, only given him the odd slap now and then when he did something stupid like spill his whiskey when he handed it to him. But he'd beaten Mama severely once or twice and given her broken ribs and a black eye because she had talked back at him or told him not to drink so much. Afterwards, Daddy had passed out on the couch and Daryl had to take Mama to the hospital by himself because Merle was off doing whatever he did. The doctors and nurses exchanged knowing looks but they'd known better than to ask how she got the injuries. But it was Merle who received the brunt of his rage, when he was there, that is. Merle began to stay away more often, for longer periods of time and he never talked about where he'd been or what he'd done.

Daryl could tell that they'd given up on Merle. In fact, when Daddy came back roaring drunk from the bars at the weekends, Merle would deliberately provoke him so that he would leave Daryl and Mama alone. Daddy would scream at Merle, 'You good for nothing son of a bitch' and 'Why don't you just kill yourself, no one would miss you.' Or 'Even those niggers down the road are smarter than you.' Or 'I don't give a rat's ass what you do just get out of my sight, you Jew-Boy Kike.' Merle would take it all, the beatings and whippings without complaint until one day he came back home and heard drunken yells. He raced into his parents' bedroom where Daddy was standing over Mama who was cowering on the bed, blood already trickling from her mouth. Daddy was threatening _her_ with his fists but never Daryl, never _him_. Daryl tried to stop him but Daddy just shoved him out of the way. What could he do? He was only ten.

Merle came racing in from wherever he'd been and did something he had never done before. He punched Daddy first to distract him from Mama. He screamed 'Don't you touch our Mama ever again!' Then, when Daddy started to pound at him with fists, he actually fought back. Daddy had forgotten how big Merle was getting and that he was almost a grown man, able to fight back. Merle had also started working out and Daddy was nearly middle-aged and a little out of shape.

Merle beat _Daddy_to a pulp and Daryl had to make him stop while Mama stared with wide eyes and screamed blue murder. Daddy's face was an unrecognisable bloody mess and there was gore all over the floor. Then Merle calmly walked out of the door, as the howl of the sirens drew nearer and nearer, without a word to either of them and without looking back. Daryl didn't see or hear from him for another ten years. And it took Daddy months to fully recover from the beating administered by his own son. But Daddy didn't change, didn't stop drinking and Daryl gradually began to replace Merle as the focus of his drunken rage. He was no longer the protected Golden Boy. Now and again he attacked Mama but Daryl was too small to protect her.

Sometimes, lying in bed at night on his stomach (it was too painful to lie on his back) with the blood trickling down his back from one of Daddy's latest punishments, Daryl would curse Merle for leaving. He would fantasise about what he would say to him for leaving him and Mama without so much as a word. He would make him pay. Since his older brother had gone, Daddy was worse than ever, drinking every day, worse than he'd ever been in fact. The _good days_never happened anymore. Daryl no longer bothered to read books or study hard. And after a teacher noticed he was limping _again_ and asked him after class why he'd been missing school, he never went back. The teacher had known, Daryl could see it in his eyes and he couldn't stand the pity he saw there. Everybody knew that his Daddy was a wife-beating drunk and they were nothing but redneck, racist scum. But when the teacher had tried to put his hand on his shoulder and Daryl had flinched from the pain there, Mr Lewis had put his hands around the back of his neck, - the place where it _didn't _hurt. Then, without a word, he had pulled him to his chest and just held him. It had felt so good to be touched by an adult without being hurt that he had broken down and cried. He couldn't help it. Mr Lewis had told him 'Don't let him beat you down. You're a good kid.' But Daryl had never gone back to school, the humiliation had been too much to bear and he'd never opened a book again. That was until Carol gave him her dead husband's books. She'd asked him why he pretended that he couldn't read. The others in the group thought it was strange that a young redneck and a middle-aged woman were friends. They couldn't understand what the two had in common but then they didn't know about the scars on his back. They knew, of course, her husband had beaten her and after he was bitten, Daryl had allowed her to finish him off. It was a mercy really if he hadn't died then, Daryl might have killed the bastard himself. He'd known what he was the first time he saw him – a red- in-the-face-drunk just like his father. He'd even had the same swagger. Anyway, somehow, Carol had recognised something in himself and she had found out about his secret by accident when he was recovering from his injuries from looking for her daughter. He'd been drugged up with painkillers and it was hot in the room so he'd let the sheet slip down his back as he was dozing on his side. She'd come in with a glass of water and seen the marks from his childhood. Her eyes had widened and she'd given out a little gasp but she hadn't seemed that surprised. He'd been embarrassed and mumbled an apology for letting her see them but she'd said it was OK. Then, she had reached over and given him a peck on the cheek. He had flinched because he always did when someone tried to touch him but she'd said that he was every bit as good as Shane and Rick.

He smiled quietly to himself.


	2. Merle finds out extent of Daryl's abuse

**Chapter 2 (**Revised) Merle finds out the full extent of their father's abuse of Daryl (contains child sexual abuse)

**Extreme Angst Fest! A total Pathos Party! Some feels for Merle, as well because he also had it extremely rough and because over time, the characters have developed differently in my mind.**

During a tussle in the forest after they escape from the Governor's forced gladiator show, Merle tears Daryl's shirt by accident. Like his brother, his filthy and ragged clothes are in bad shape too after being detained by the Governor and are easily ripped. Merle's silent as he stares at Daryl's criss-crossed back covered with faded red and white scars. At the rounded ones left behind from numerous cigarettes. There's also a tattoo on his right side, as if Daryl has been trying to draw attention away from his past injuries. Merle stands for a moment in shocked silence because Daryl's never let him see his naked back since they'd been together again. But Merle hadn't thought anything of it at the time. He also sees the recent bruises over Daryl's kidneys. Now, however, Merle wasn't looking down at them but stares in front of him muttering 'Jesus…' under his breath. He can also see the ribs clearly defined under the fading tan. And even though Daryl had always been on the lean side, he knows that they hadn't fed him. However, Daryl quickly recovers and casts his torn shirt aside but puts on his backpack to hide the scars as if in embarrassment. Then, he scrambles backwards as far away from his brother as he can until a tree trunk in the way stops him.

'Jesus, is that what the Governor did to you, baby brother? I'll _kill_ him. _Slowly_.' Merle asked stupidly, hopefully, despite knowing the truth. But not wanting to hear it anyway. To hear the accusation in the other's voice.

'No, can't you see that they're _old_? He barely touched me apart from make me fight with you.' Yet despite his words, Daryl shuddered. Merle didn't miss any of this or that his brother seemed so jumpy but maybe that wasn't surprising since the sick bastard had ordered them to fight to the death. But it wasn't like they'd never fought before, they were both hot-tempered and Merle had not come unscathed from the fight either. Daryl had got some good right hooks in on his face and chest. His throat also had some red fingermarks from when he had tried to choke him. Because Daryl had given Merle has good as he got.

'Was it _him_?'

'You left me behind in _that_ house. Now you act all surprised.'

'I swear I didn't know ….'

'Cut it out.' Daryl angrily interrupted him. 'You left and this is what _I_ got. You saved your own skin, just like you always do. Don't act like you give a shit now.'

'I didn't know. I didn't think he would do it to _you_. I had to get out, I would have killed him or he would have killed me. If I had known he was doing it to you as well, I would have come back and finished him off. Why didn't you tell me?

'Tell you? You disappeared off the face of the earth, no posting address, no number, nothing. You left me and Mama behind, that's why she nearly drank herself to death. You know that she was passed out when the fire happened? Yeah, he beat the shit out of her too once or twice but I got the worst of it and I wasn't even big enough to protect her.

Merle shook his head guiltily. 'I didn't know. I thought it was me he hated.'

'He hated all of us. When you left, things got worse. He needed another punching bag and I was it. You know he never really believed in hittin' women.' Daryl laughed mirthlessly. 'When he lost his job…..'

'Why didn't you tell me when I got back?' Merle interrupted him.

'Honestly? Didn't think you'd give a shit. Thought you'd laugh at me for lettin' 'im. Like you always fuckin' did.' His voice rose accusingly.

'But you were jus' a kid...' Merle began but then changed direction by doing something he'd never done to no-one in his life ever before.

He apologised.

'Daryl, I'm sorry…'

But it just seemed to enrage his brother further.'Sorry don't do shit!' Daryl screamed back. 'Fuck you, Merle! Go, get the fuck outta 'ere! I don't need ya ugly, useless ass, never did! You ruin everythin'! I'm goin' back to _my_ _people_, _my real family_!'Daryl raged and attacked his brother, first just shoving him away at first and then coming at him again and again with fists upraised to punch him half-heartedly. Merle just stood there, uncharacteristically passive, but not backing away either. Letting Daryl pummel him until his brother's rage ran its course. Until he calmed down, seeming to lose the nervous energy he'd possessed. But the fury still blazed out of his eyes - looked like hatred to Merle. The words stabbing into him because Daryl was only the person Merle gave a shit about, the only person he'd ever needed, who could ever hurt him. Because Daryl wanted _his people_, _his real family_ who he wanted more than Merle and who would never want _Merle_. Because Baby Brother no longer saw Merle as _his family_. Without Daryl, who did Merle have? Did Daryl really _hate_him? _Blame_him for the things their father did to him?

'Mama's still dead and besides, the things he did with his belt weren't the worst.' Daryl burst out and then fell silent as if regretting it. He had just wanted Merle to _hurt_, to know what he had left him to face alone.

'Baby brother, what are you _saying_?' Daryl looked shamefacedly down at his feet. Anger all gone now. As his shoulders hunched.

'Forget it, it don't matter.' He mumbled.

'Tell me…'

'No, it don't matter anymore.' Daryl couldn't meet his own brother's eyes.

'What do you mean?'

'You _know_ what I mean!'

'Tell me anyway,' Merle asked in an even softer voice.

'Ya really wanna fuckin' know? Well, after Mama wasn't around anymore… he said … he said…a man has certain needs.' The anger faded slowly from his voice and almost became a whisper.

Merle suddenly felt sick. What was his baby brother saying?

'Don't you get the picture?' Daryl suddenly screamed and turned away from him and leaned his forehead against the tree trunk and put his arms round it. And closed his eyes, as if to shut the world out. The whole world, the Walkers, the past, their father, everything including _Merle_. The experience of being the Governor's prisoner and the forced death-fight and the rabid rabble screaming for Merle to kill him, had taken its toll on him. Now that the adrenalin and his anger had worn off, he was feeling shaky and overwhelmed. Didn't seem to have his usual resilience. He'd also had nothing to eat for days, not that _that_ usually bothered him.

Merle went up to him and tried to touch his shoulder. Just his _shoulder_ for fuck's sake. But Daryl threw his hand off him like it was burning and violently shoved him away.

Merle withdrew.

Should have known.

Merle also wondered if Daryl was telling the full truth about what had happened with the Governor. He'd heard rumours about what happened to prisoners in Woodbury. Something that had made his brother regress?

Because before he got captured by that sick fuck in Woodbury, Daryl had seemed to actually be getting better. Flinching less, more relaxed. Less aggressive. Merle had even seen Daryl smile and laugh from time to time. He had actually walked with his head held high with confidence in his stride when he brought back meat for the group. Knowing people were dependent on him to feed and protect them. And it hadn't escaped Merle the way they looked him, like they _loved_him. And whatever these people were doing to him, seemed to be working. Especially Carol and Rick, Merle grudgingly admitted to himself. Although Merle hated sharing Daryl with anybody, always _had_, he had to admit that the group seemed to be good for him. Because Merle never had anyone who had ever looked at _him_like that except for Daryl. Not even the women he'd fucked. Not even after the act, in bed when women (but not usually those he paid) usually wanted to cuddle up. But then they'd mostly only been deadbeat junkies, meth-head skanks and crack whores from their neighbourhood. Still, not one of them had _loved_Merle. Not even their mother, nobody except for Daryl, once upon a time. But these people were giving Daryl the family they'd never had. Treating him like a person and making him feel like a human being. Daryl, miraculously, despite everything, still had a chance.

Not like _Merle_.

Now his little brother seemed so uncharacteristically panicky and scared after his tentative, terrible revelation about Daddy. But when they'd been growing up and he'd been like this, Merle would bully him into manning up. _Dixon men don't cry! Only niggers and Jew Boys get scared! Toughen up Darlena! What are you, a fuckin' littl' girl? You gonna make me save your worthless hide again?_ And Daryl would. Merle remembered how his eight year-old brother would stop snivelling and his face would harden into that familiar stony expression and he would stoically face whatever it was. But Merle sensed that this was not the right time because something was _really_ _wrong_with Daryl because he seemed terrified, not his usual tough and cocky self at all. On the verge of tears _even_. Of course he did. Instead, he felt the same surge of inexplicable protectiveness that he'd felt for him in the arena. In front of the predatory Governor and his mob. Again, Merle wondered if something had happened with the man or his men. In any case, some _very bad things_ had happened to Daryl when Merle left home. When his big brother had abandoned him to his fate. Something worse than even the scars on Daryl's back.

Like on Merle's back. On his chest. All over his body.

Merle knew what it was but he was dreading hearing it from Daryl's mouth because then it would be _real_. His words would make it _true_ and they could never be taken back. His brother's words and the images they would put in his mind would always be there, haunting him on the nights when he couldn't sleep. Most nights than not especially when he couldn't get high or wasted. Daryl and his father in front of his eyes whenever he tried to close them. And it would happen like that despite the silent pact between them – that this would be the one and only time that they would ever mention it. And it would be Merle's fault because he had let it happen. Hadn't stayed and protected Daryl and their mother or at least finished the bastard off properly before he left for good. So that he could never hurt either of them again. Hadn't cared enough. Only thought of himself. Let the only thing he loved in this sick world be ruined, as much as someone like him was capable of love. To be hurt. Be damaged. The only good thing that had been worth saving and protecting in his entire worthless life - sweet Daryl, as he'd called him, always mockingly. He'd failed as a big brother. Had broken his promise to Mama, the one time that she'd shown that she actually cared, to keep Daryl safe from their father. To always protect him.

But then Daryl didn't know that the last time their father had cut him with his knife, he'd gone too deep, cutting into in his chest and had almost killed him. The old man had been starting to unravel, to lose control then. That's when Merle knew that the next time he might kill him or he would kill him himself.

Had he cut Daryl too?

_He'd_had to get out.

And he'd protected Daryl from this knowledge then, hadn't wanted to burden him. Add to his catalogue of horror movie memories from _that house_. But now Daryl was telling him that their father had done something else to him – gone even further.

And now, he had to know the whole truth about what had happened with their Daddy when Merle had left to save his own worthless skin.

With unaccustomed gentleness, he asked his brother again, 'Tell me, little brother, what else did he do? ….What did Daddy do? Come on, you've practically told me anyway.' He coaxed.

But there was silence.

He pressed him again, softly. 'Come on. You can tell your big brother'. Merle wasn't aware of it but he was speaking to his brother in the tone he hadn't used with him since Daryl was very little. A baby or toddler perhaps.

Daryl, still not turning around and facing the tree trunk, spoke in a listless monotone. Only his body which started to tremble betrayed any emotion as he hugged the tree closer. Hugging the tree for comfort, not Merle, not a _person_. Because after what his Daddy did to him, Daryl couldn't trust another _human being_ enough to let one near him. 'A few weeks after Mama died, he started coming into my bedroom at night. Made me do shit to 'im the first few times because he said Mama wasn't there to do 'em anymore. Sick fuck even told me it was my _special punishment_because I was a _very bad boy_.'

Merle tried to swallow but suddenly there was a hard lump in his throat. He tried to keep his voice steady.

'Fuck.' He said. 'You must have only been about 10.'

Daryl shrugged but still didn't turn round. But his shoulders were still trembling. 'I never told no-one, not even the nosy-ass social worker.' He said. And all Merle wanted to do was put his arms around them to make them stop but he knew what would happen. And the last thing Daryl needed was anyone forcing themselves on him. _Again_.

'Did he _fuck_ you?' Merle abruptly burst out because he didn't know how to put the question more delicately. Didn't know the etiquette for talking about this kind of thing – how the hell do you ask your younger brother if your father raped him when he was a child? But he had to know how far the twisted bastard had gone with him. Of course he had. Wouldn't have been able to resist. The ultimate violation. But his brutal bluntness seemed to shock Daryl into the reality of what he was saying and he began to sob, quietly at first as he nodded. Then louder, hugging the tree-trunk, still not meeting his older brother's eyes with his back turned to him.

'Yeah.' Daryl admitted in a small, childish voice. 'We...he.. did fuckin' everythin...I begged him to use the belt instead but he _wouldn't_.' He laughed harshly at this but with a note of hysteria. But then he broke down again as his chest hitching rapidly in and out. Hyperventilating. And Merle didn't laugh at him or call him a soft sissy-boy or littl' Darlena. Because despite himself, Merle began to cry as well. Big, tough, merciless Merle who _never_cried – hadn't even when he heard about their mother - their father had made sure of _that_. Only his _little brother_ could ever bring him to tears. Somehow, he felt glad that the bastard hadn't been able to take that away from him, proved he was _human_after all. Maybe he wasn't a complete _monster_. Now it all made sense, why Daryl couldn't bear to be touched, why he flinched and backed away from physical contact when there was no real danger. But he'd been getting better. Wasn't just because of the whippings. Merle had been whipped himself and had had even worse. Because even other people's affectionate, harmless touches, even accidental fleeting light contact brought back memories of his father's hands all over him. _Being pinned down, helpless_.

The pain. The shame. Even though it wasn't his fault.

Had he even ever been with a woman?

Listening to his younger brother's broken, tortured sobs, still holding himself back from touching him, Merle fantasised about the things he would do to their father if he was standing in front of them now. Make him pay for the things he'd done to _Little Daryl_. Take him to their hunting lodge on the mountain, tie him up and torture him for weeks. Give him a taste of his own sick medicine with inserted sharp objects so that he would beg for death before Merle was through with him. And he would do the other things he'd learnt during interrogations in Iraq and Afghanistan.

Other things like he'd seen happen in prison with those who had preyed on children particularly _in that way._

But the bastard was already gone, lucky for him. But Merle thought he knew how he had gone.

Had always known.

Despite himself, Merle couldn't stop the tears. He could cry? He hadn't known that was capable. Had thought that the ability had been beaten out of him, along with his father's belt and the cigarette burns. Along with the shallow stabbings with the kitchen knife which had never been deep enough to be fatal, until the last time when the bastard began to slip. His own scars, especially those ones from the knife, felt like they were burning and writhing on his skin like fiery serpents. Like they were _alive_. The bastard had known where to stab to avoid the vital organs, how deep he could go - they came from a family of hunters, after all. And at times, he had wished that his father had just once gone too deep and that he could have died. But he'd had to stay alive to protect Daryl. His baby brother had been something to live for. Something innocent and pure in their world where innocence and purity died an early death.

'I didn't know…I didn't know….' Merle said, his voice cracking, trying to make excuses for the unforgivable to his brother. Suddenly he could stand it no longer, he knew that Daryl wasn't going to stop anytime soon, he'd been keeping this shit to himself for God know's how many years. And because once he allowed himself to let go which was rarely, he really let go just like when he was a baby. Merle remembered Daryl crying for what seemed like hours in their room but probably wasn't (before he learnt that crying or showing weakness was not appreciated in their house) when Mama and Daddy were passed out on one of their drinking binges. Merle had let him cry and hissed at him to 'Shut the fuck up!' and cursed him for being 'A noisy littl' bastard' for keeping him awake but this only aggravated his brother further until Merle feared that their parents would wake up. And if Daddy came in with another pounding headache, angry because Daryl had woken him up, he might hurt him. In the end, after what had seemed like hours but probably wasn't, he finally gave in and went to his crib and roughly picked him up. But the baby must have sensed his anger because he started to bawl even louder until Merle held him and stroked his back. Only then, would Daryl settle down and fall asleep, snuggling against Merle's chest. 'Damn you, kid,' Merle whispered but not without some affection,'For making me do this.' And although he had never admitted, even to himself that he had enjoyed these cosy moments with his little brother, had liked the feel of his baby weight against his own body, had breathed in his clean, baby smell. So different from the other stale smells in their house - of spilt sour beer and whiskey, filth and decay. Why the hell did Daryl like him so much anyway? That he had enjoyed the power that he had over Daryl because he was the only one who could ever get him to sleep.

So, just like then, _Merle_ knew how to make him stop. So, barking 'Come 'ere, boy!' at him he grabbed Daryl roughly and forced him to turn round. And he knew that the state he was in, even though it was only to hold him, Daryl would panic and fight him. Of course he did and somehow Daryl's backpack came off in the process. Luckily, Merle'd taken off his sword from his prosthesis. And Merle knew that he should have probably been more gentle with him but Merle didn't do _gentle_. Never _had_. _Gentle_ was for bleeding heart liberal pussies and nigger-lovers. And his brother continued to struggle until Merle shushed him, 'Ain't no-one gonna do any more _hurtin.'_ He soothed.'It's only me, Ole Merle. It's jus' your big, ugly brother.' And miraculously, a small, tentative smile quivered over Daryl's lips. And when Merle began to stroke his hair with his one hand to calm him, Daryl's trembling slowed, finally stopped and he went limp. 'You're not bad, not bad…it was Daddy, the sick fuck who was bad, not you.' Merle told his younger brother and tightened his arms around him.

Eventually, however, Daryl's sobs began to subside and he pushed Merle away. 'I'll be OK, now. I'm OK.'

Suddenly, Merle said coldly, 'Is that why you killed him?'

Daryl looked around in mock disbelief. 'What?'

Merle's eyes narrowed as he spoke again, his tone this time dangerously soft. 'I know _you_did. Knew it was you as soon as I heard. That's when I knew things must have been bad. Jus' never wanted to know, was all. Drank too much and left the fire burning? Yeah, right. The stingy bastard wouldn't even light the fire if it was 20 below. Same way as Mama went, very smart.'

'It's true!'

'Don't lie to me, little brother. I know you did. Who could blame you? The bastard deserved it. May he rot in hell.'

'OK, I did it. I killed the evil son of a bitch. Sent him straight to hell.' Daryl triumphantly spat on the ground. Seemed to have recovered, his breathing was no longer ragged, Merle noted with relief. 'All I know that when he was dead, I felt _clean _again. And I'll gladly kill any others like him.'

'I don't blame you, little brother. After what he did, I reckon few folks, even _Righteous Rick_ would have a problem with you offing the bastard, even if he was your Daddy.'

'I want to go home. Let's go back and find the rest of the group.'

_Home_. Merle was happy - seemed like Daryl still wanted him after all. He was even willing to build bridges with the assholes he still hadn't forgiven for leaving him to be eaten to be with Daryl again. 'But I can't go back there after I beat the crap out of the Chinese kid.' He said.

'He's Korean. We'll smooth it over.'

'Whatever. I beat the crap out of him. They'll never accept me.'

'I may be the one walking away but you're the one who's leaving. Again.'

Daryl strode off like nothing had happened and Merle reluctantly followed.


	3. Daryl is captured by the Governor

Chapter 3: Daryl gets captured by the Governor. Takes place before the Governor forces the two brothers to fight each other. A flashback taking place before Chapter 2 which helps to explain Daryl's mental state.

With reference to torture and male-on-male rape because I can totally imagine the Governor doing that. You know me by now – I don't hold anything back. But please don't read if it will trigger. Also another chance to trawl through Merle's mind.

'What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.' Friedrich Nietzsche

'Mathein-Pathein.' Ancient Greek proverb – (loosely translated) 'To suffer is to learn.'

Daryl was cursing his captors and struggling as they hustled him to the interrogation cells. 'Gi' the fuck off me! I'm gonna fuck ya'll up!' He roared. Then, 'Merle! Merle! What did yer do with my brother?' he screamed as he cried for Merle. He knew that he was here somewhere at the Governor's side. Then managing to get one arm free, he punched the man on his right and it took three of them to subdue him. They pistol-whipped him unconscious and dragged him off.

He woke up, stripped naked except for his underwear, and tied to what looked like a dentist's chair. There was a cut above his temple that was still bleeding. He shook his head to clear it, felt a dull throb and shivered with a sudden chill despite the heat of the Georgia summer. The Governor was standing across the desk from him and one of his heavies was with him – an overweight Hispanic man in a scruffy black rock T-shirt. His heart began to race, he had special reasons, more than most, for not liking being restrained and he began to sweat, despite having no clothes on. But he arranged his facial expression into one of contemptuous hostility. _Mustn't show fear_. _Don't give the bastard the satisfaction_.

The Governor rubbed his hands. 'Welcome back.' He said courteously. 'Now if you tell us what we need to know, we can get this over quickly and I can let you go back to wherever you came from. Otherwise…' He nodded silently at the open bag of dental surgical instruments on the desk.

'Yeah, like you'll just let me go back home. Do you think I'm a fucking idiot or something? And where's my brother, Merle?' Daryl's voice rose aggressively. 'Fuck yer. I ain't telling yer nothin'.' The heavy-set man moved threateningly towards him but the Governor waved him back.

'You'll notice that we've taken the liberty of stripping our prisoners – even the females. Helps in the breaking down process, so my psychological advisor informs me. You should be glad that we didn't strip you _completely_ like they did at Guantanamo Bay. It was a common interrogation technique there - you know how shy those Muslims about their bodies.'

'Fuck you, I ain't shy. '

'No, I don't believe _you_are.' The Governor eyed the lean Hunter's tanned, muscular body appreciatively with his one eye. And something about the way his gaze slithered all over him made Daryl's skin goosebump and a icy chill of fear stabbed his stomach. Was it going to happen _again_? Nevertheless, he deliberately made his face stony.

'We already know about the prison. How many of you? What supplies – food and ammo do you have? What is your leader's plan for us? We know that you are close to him.' The Governor asked patiently. 'Just tell me and we'll let you go.'

'I ain't giving up _my people_ (he meant _my family_) to you fucking assholes. You'll have to kill me.' Daryl growled.

'Maybe. But we'll have lots of fun together first.' The Governor said cheerfully. Then changing tack, 'Forgive me but I couldn't help noticing ….- Where _did_ you get all _those terrible scars_ on your back?' 'Was _Daddy_a little too handy with his belt?' He asked, his voice dripping with fake, syrupy sympathy.

Daryl broke off his aggressive glare at the Governor and trembled almost imperceptibly at the mention of his father. The Governor didn't miss it – he never missed _anything_. Even with only one good eye left. This particular prisoner was so vulnerableand this made him especially beautiful to the Governor. At that particular moment, he genuinely wanted to comfort him. So, he approached the prisoner slowly to tenderly stroke a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. As if to soothe him. But Daryl immediately flinched back from his fingers like they burned his skin. 'There, there.' The Governor reassured. 'We won't hurt you like your Daddy did. I promise.' But he was thinking triumphantly _Not so tough after all. I can break you now_.

'Tell me, did your Daddy fuck you too? ' The Governor sweetly asked suddenly, seemingly to invite confidence. 'He did, didn't he?'

But then the prisoner defiantly straightened up again. 'Yeah, he did.' He drawled candidly. 'And I killed him for it.' He spoke tonelessly but raised baby blue eyes so brimming with burning rage and hatred that even the Governor automatically took a step back. Although Daryl was tied to a chair and posed no threat. 'And I'll kill you _too_, you sick fuck.' Snarling his promise.

The Governor had been put ill at ease by this fierce and rough inbred redneck, despite himself. Yet the prisoner had more depth to him – he wasn't just the typical white trash stereotype. A particularly intriguing case, he'd never met a man who appeared to be so easily wounded and fragile one minute and then so ferociously strong and defiant the next. A fascinating complex mix of contrasts. What made him even more exciting was that he knew that Daryl could easily snap his neck in a fair fight. But that the Governor had him tied down and at his mercy. _In his power_. And he felt himself getting aroused with this thought, like with the girl. Even more so, because under different circumstances, this vulnerable prisoner would be a powerful enemy. Therefore, breaking him down was going to be a tricky but rewarding challenge.

Anyway, he'd had enough of the opening pleasantries. It was clear that the redneck needed some encouragement to talk. What was it with these people? First Maggie and now Daryl. Why did they defy him so? But he liked the stubborn ones, they were always _more_ _fun_. If the bag of goodies on the table didn't work, he would have to try something else _more persuasive_he thought as his eyes lingered longingly on Daryl's flat stomach and toned biceps that spoke of a healthy life led outdoors. Out in the green fields and gleaming forests, in the shining sun and fresh air. But he would never again feel the sun's warmth on his skin or breathe in the fresh morning breeze, smelling of pine, coming down from the mountains. The Governor would make sure of _that_.

Now, however, he nodded to his heavy to hold Daryl down and picked up a dental drill. 'Now, now.' He said soothingly, raising it aloft as Daryl began to thrash around but suddenly there was a loud knock on the door. The heavy covered Daryl's mouth with his hand so that he couldn't make a noise. 'What now!' The Governor barked impatiently. He'd been looking forward to breaking down this_particular_ prisoner. He strode outside, carefully closing the door behind him. Seeing Merle, he wondered exactly how incest worked in Daryl's family. Had the father fucked the older brother as well, he thought, looking at Merle with new eyes? And had Merle and Daryl shared times of special brotherly bonding? He shook his head at the complexity of family relationships in the uneducated peasant under-classes. He wasn't even going to _try_ to understand. So, he silently ushered the other brother into another empty interrogation room down the corridor. Because of course, he didn't want Merle to know that Daryl was there as a prisoner, it would spoil the nice surprise he had planned for him at tonight's party. The happy reunion. It was lucky that they hadn't heard each other's voices.

'What is it _now_?' he asked his second-in-command impatiently. There was trouble at the perimeter and the Governor would have to go out there himself. Probably no time to _personally interrogate_ the prisoner today. Never mind. The details didn't matter – they outnumbered and probably outgunned the prison community with all the arms from the National Guard militia. After all, he didn't need more information to prepare his proactive strike against the prison. Nevertheless, he sighed in disappointment. Well, the festivities would have to do.

He told Merle to wait and went back to instruct his heavy to take Daryl back to his cell until tonight. To keep him trussed up but get him dressed first in his clothes, ready for tonight. It wouldn't do to scare the audience. But for all of them to leave him alone. He hoped the pretty-boy (pretty in a kind of unkempt, redneck way) killed his older brother, he had special fun-times planned for him. Involving whips, handcuffs and ball-gags. After all, his father had already broken him in, he must be _good_. He licked his lips lasciviously and felt himself becoming hard at the thought. No, he wouldn't let his boys touch him, he knew that they would fall upon this pretty-boy with his prominent high cheek-bones and muscular body like rabid dogs. Unless he gave them specific instructions not to and he wanted this sweet morsel all to himself. He had discovered raping other men –who needed to be restrained, was even more exciting than forcing himself on women although he had never classed himself as bisexual. But women kind of expected it if they were captured, didn't they? They always had that resigned look of terror in their eyes, expecting the worst. Just look at history and see what happened to women. It was a sanctioned weapon of war. And it was war – war against the prison community who insisted on defying his authority.

Back in the cells, Daryl tried to stop shaking, to bring himself finally under control. It'd been a close call there with the drill until the Governor was mercifully interrupted. And Daryl had seen the look in the bastard's eye, knew what it meant. Worse – two of the guards including the Hispanic heavy and another weasely one he didn't know had already roughly grabbed his ass and groped his crotch before they'd allowed him to get dressed in his dirty ragged clothes and tied his hands behind him again. They'd mockingly called him 'Daddy Fucker' and 'Sweet Cheeks' and laughed dirtily at that. Finally, the Hispanic (the other asshole had called him Caesar) had stroked his cheek in a way that made Daryl's skin crawl and whispered in his ear '_Maybe he'll let us play with you later, pretty boy_. _After he's done with you_.' Daryl had shuddered and cringed and told them to '_Fuck off_ _and to get their filthy hands off him'_before the ferret-faced guard had punched him. He'd only just come to again and he had no idea of how much time had passed. His hands were still bound tightly behind his back but apart from that, he seemed whole and intact. Apart from another throbbing bruise blooming on his other temple.

In the dark stinking cell, he prayed that they would stay away and instinctively tried to send out calls with his mind to Merle to come and save him, _Merle! Merle! He's got me! He's gonna hurt me!_ _Really hurt me!_Because without being even aware of it, he'd reverted back to being_Little Darlena_ mocked by Merle for not being tough enough to fight his own battles. But even _Little Darlena_ had finally stood up to their father, pushed to the limits of his endurance when he'd murdered him and got away with it. And Merle had been gone. Finally done what _Merle_ had never had the guts to do although he'd fantasied aloud about it almost daily. Because whenever Daryl had been afraid or in trouble, these silent calls from his mind had often seemed to summon Merle to wherever Daryl was. If he was near enough, that was. Anyway, his big brother had more often than not seemed to know when Daryl was scared and come running to save him. Whether it was some bigger kids picking on him until Merle taught him how to fight properly '_Yer better tough'n up, yer littl' pussy_ _so I don't always have to come a- runnin' to save yer useless hide'_or when their father was on one of his drunken rampages, as usual. And given him a light punch on the arm or kick to the leg to emphasise his point. Daryl had heard about this phenomenon with identical twins but never with ordinary brothers but him and Merle weren't exactly normal siblings from a normal family. Maybe that was why. And they'd never spoken openly about it but it was just something that _was_.

Merle was walking the city wall perimeter with the Governor, discussing how the defences could be reinforced and where best those on wall duty should be placed. Making good use of his military knowledge and training. Below, the inhuman growls and groans of the Biters could be heard but at safe distance. On the way, he saw Andrea practising target practice, shooting down a Biter with another woman and she waved a greeting to him and the Governor. Suddenly, something made him think of his brother. Just a feeling that he was in trouble and that he was _here_ in Woodbury. He mentally pushed away the prickle of fear running up and down his spine. It would not do good to bring up his brother to the Governor. Merle no longer trusted the man – he seemed to become more and more unhinged of late – especially since he'd lost his eye. And Merle had lied to him about Michonne – it had just seemed easier at the time. He knew that he man did not forgive errors easily. It was just one little white lie – she was as good as dead in the forest, wasn't she? He couldn't have found out could he? He'd seen what happened to those the Governor deemed had betrayed him – many ended up in the screamer pits or in his Saturday night gladiator shows. There was going to be another freak show tonight.

Later that night, in the arena, Merle would see how the Governor was looking at his baby brother and he'd instinctively got in front of the disorientated Daryl to shield him from the bastard's lecherous gaze with his broader body. He'd never pegged the asshole for being a low-down dirty homo fag. But of course he'd heard the rumours about what happened to prisoners – both _males_and females, just had brushed them off. After all, he owed the man his life. Then, he'd looked back over his shoulder and checked Daryl over like he used to when they were kids – _was he hurt?_ _Had the sick fuck hurt him?_Strange, how these thoughts came to him now although his baby brother was a fully-grown man and fully capable of handling himself. Had proved it numerous times in fact - protected the group who depended on him for their survival. And despite himself, Merle found himself thinking these fiercely protective big brother thoughts. Like he was thirteen-year old_Big Bad Bro Merle_ and Daryl was five-year old _Little Daryl_ again. Like when they were kids. _Old habits die hard_, he thought bitterly. _Instincts too_.

Anyway, he knew what the crazy bastard was capable of. And if he'd touched _his_ baby brother, Merle was going to come back and kill the bastard when they got out of there. Kill him _slowly_. With a _whole world of_ _hurt_. However, he saw with relief that although looking thinner than usual and with a couple of nasty bruises on his head, Daryl seemed none the worse for wear. But he knew what would happen to Daryl if his brother by some miracle won this fight to the death. The Governor would kill him anyway after he'd had his fun with him.

Luckily, Daryl didn't notice the Governor right away because after they'd untied his hands and taken off the blindfold, he was gazing around fearfully at the screaming audience. At the Biters being held back for now, trying to get his bearings. Before his facial expression hardened and he went into fighting mode. Swinging from side to side with his fists up. Like Merle had taught him. But Merle wasn't gonna let anything happen to his baby brother. He had to save Daryl – like he used to when they were kids. Before he went away and abandoned him. This time him and Daryl were going to be together forever and he never going to leave him ever again. He was going to save them _both_. But he would have to hurt Daryl first – this was what the psycho had forced him to. Hurt Daryl first in order to save him.


	4. The Governor's Story

CHAPT 4

Chapter 4: The Governor's Story

Introduces Woodbury and the Governor and gives some background to his character. How he became the man he is. Contains reference to sexual assault/rape

It was a bright, early morning on the streets of Woodbury. The Governor, a tall, slim but well-built blond man in his forties strode efficiently along the gleaming Main Street of his town, black boots thudding on the pavement. His long legs forcing Milton to try to keep up with him as he prattled on about his latest experiments and what he thought he had found out. The handsome self-appointed leader of Woodbury was only half-listening. God! He could be such a bore at times! The man actually fancied himself as a scientist! He'd been a social studies lecturer at the university down in Atlanta and had been visiting his sister at Woodbury when the epidemic broke out. Unfortunately, she'd been one of the first victims. Milton was investigating whether the Biters still might retain some of their old personality and memories, he'd tried first on Mary but then he had to put her down. His latest case was a 70 year old cancer patient who had volunteered to be a guinea-pig. If they ran out of volunteers and that seemed likely, thought the Governor, they would start having to find an alternative source of test subjects. He didn't know if the man was just deluded but he desperately hoped that it was true – Penny did seem to quieten down when he played–Bye, Baby Bunting to her. Sometimes, it even seemed like that she was singing (moaning?) along. It used to be her favourite nursery rhyme, after all, the one he sang to her before he tucked her into bed at night. But now he 'put her to bed in the closet' every night and the thought of the closet led to unwelcome others about her deteriorating body. Such as her long hair which he still tenderly brushes every day which used to be so thick and gleam with a healthy chestnut hue that was now falling out in clumps and the spreading mottled patches of discoloured skin. All over her. And _her smell_. Getting stronger day by day, so that now he could detect her odour faintly in his office even when she was shut-up. Nevertheless, he refused to admit to himself that it nauseated him as he pushed these disturbing thoughts away. She was his secret and if this bumbling bureaucrat ever found a cure, she would be at the head of the queue for treatment. Because he couldn't lose her as well, not while there was hope because after Anne was gone, she was the only family she had left. He refused to think that Penny was really _gone_too.

The thought of his dead wife led him to unwillingly recall that tragic icy winter's night three years ago. He's driving them back from a co-worker's New Year Eve's party. Except that he's had too much drink, so as Anne although he's far less worse for wear than she is. She was tripping up on herself, could barely walk in her high heels – fell flat on her ass in front of _everybody_ with her otherwise elegant short midnight blue dress rucking up to show her silk underwear. And her shapely legs. Had always been proud of her figure, was Anne, he thought sourly. But he'd never been so humiliated in his life. The other wives and girlfriends twittering behind their hands – laughing at her, laughing at _him_. He could tell in their eyes that they _knew._His wife's voice slurring – not even making any sense, the laughing stock of the gathering. But he knows why he drank so much that night, more than his usual limit of two small glasses. The knowledge, the shame, the humiliation. So he decides to drive them the two hour drive home. Before she got too wasted, he saw him and Anne cosying up together, in the kitchen corner over the punch-bowl when they think no one is looking. But he knows better. He knows what's going on has known for months but decides as usual to ignore it. Doesn't say anything –doesn't confront either of them. Just pretends that nothing is wrong despite the signs - his wife hasn't let him touch her for over half a year and sometimes when she looks at him, she seems so resigned, so _tired_. So disappointed in him and the mediocre middle-class life he can offer her. And she drinks - a bottle of red wine a day, sometimes two, occasionally even three on the bad days. Often she screams at him '_Why can't you be a man? Why do you let your best friend treat you like this? You work all hours for jack-shit! You could take over the company yourself_! _Or become a partner! Get some balls and ask him for a payrise! We have to pay for Penny's school fees and we don't have enough money! We never have enough!_'But he can't think of anything to say in return. He can't confront his boss he needs the job and new positions are hard to come by in the recession. And his employer knows this and takes full advantage of the situation. They've all had their pay frozen and a cut in bonuses, not just him. The sword of redundancy is hanging all over their heads, like the sword of Damocles. Neither can he confront old school friend about what he is doing behind his back with his wife, either.

The roads were clear when they left but then it starts to sleet – and cover the road with black ice. It's New Year's Day after all. And then the oil- truck hits, skidding on the road – his wife forgot to put on her seat belt and he didn't check her. _It's his fault!_Luckily, Penny isn't with them, the one blessing to be grateful for, the party was on too late for a five year old. So she's with the teenage babysitter waiting for them at home. Anne dies on impact, her skull blooming blood roses and her neck snapped broken. He can tell immediately that she's dead, you didn't have to be a paramedic to _see_that but he's in too much shock and pain to register this properly. He's escaped, (if you could call it _escaped_ with your wife sitting dead beside you)with bad whiplash and a few minor cuts and bruises, mainly to his forehead.

Still walking briskly while unwillingly recalling the past, he made his way to the Town Hall where he had a job to do. As they went along, various townsfolk obsequiously greeted the Governor with calls of 'Good Morning' or a smile and a nod. They were going about their business – shopping, visiting friends, drinking coffee in the cafes – even work. He nodded back and smiled politely, even using the names of the ones he knew. He remembered how they had yammered and clamoured 'Save us! Oh, oh save us!' like the stupid, screaming, sobbing sheep they were. Just begging for a leader –any leader. So he'd stepped up and got the job. He hadn't been surprised, he'd always been good at public speaking, using persuasive words, projecting the right image to sway the masses. After all, he'd been the marketing and promotion manager in his friend's company – knew how to talk the talk. His commercials had brought thousands in profits to the company not that he had seen much of the profits.

Yet now - he owned the town and he owned the people. He was not a mere man but _The Man_. He was finally being _a man_. If only Anne was here to see him now, she would be proud of him, he knew.

Yes – most people had jobs –he'd been proud of his employment policy and the children would go to school and be taught by adults (they were lucky – one or two had teaching degrees) as normal. This was all part of the image of normalcy that he carefully cultivated – if you woke up here from a coma you might think that the epidemic had never happened. Moreover, if people told you about it, you'd feel like it was some horrific nightmare but yet so removed from life in Woodbury it was no more than that. Because of the various guards placed on along the perimeter walls – on rota to protect the townsfolk within their boundaries. Most adults took were already trained to shoot or stab on target but there was also a special military division made up of ex-cops, security guards and bouncers. These people protected the city walls because the Governor never did anything without precise planning and organisation. So this buffer made life in his little town seem really removed from the harsh reality outside it. Where the Biters roamed free. Why were people so scared of them, really? As long as they didn't attack you en mass or in a _herd_ as Andrea had coined the term, they were pretty slow and stupid. A trained _child_ could kill one. Yes – maybe that would be a good idea – train the children to kill Biters and guard the perimeter.

He'd thought about what had happened with Maggie – God knows he'd never hurt a woman before. Had barely ever raised his voice to Anne or Penny let alone ever put his hands to them. In the old world, he had _despised_men _like that_. It was true – a few people like him came into their own when the Apocalypse happened. Now that the rules of the game had changed and now _he_was in charge around here. During the interrogation, knowing that she could hear her boyfriend getting the crap beaten out of him next door (he'd chosen these sheds with their thin walls as interrogation cells deliberately) and her badly concealed fear he knew was for the boy, not for herself, he'd found himself becoming aroused. So he'd made her strip and felt himself getting hard when he saw her pert, young breasts. So sweet - how she'd tried to hide them so shyly but it had only turned him on more. Especially the look of terror in her eyes as he ran his eyes deliberately slowly all over her body. Then he'd removed his belt and undone his pants – to make his silent threat all the more clear to her to intimidate her into giving up her group's location. Then slammed her down on the table and thrust himself against her to terrify her even more. So she could feel his hardness ready for her. And he was going to make her tell him and then do it anyway. Finally, he was being a man like his wife had told him to be because powerful men simply took what they wanted from others. Forced others to do what they wanted them to do. But the girl had refused to say anything and steeling herself, told him to do what he had to do calmly with a 'Fuck you' thrown in. With no tears, no pleading for mercy, he felt his erection wither into nothing. Who had ever said _power_ was the greatest aphrodisiac? They were wrong – it was _fear_. He couldn't do it after all. Suppressing his frustration, he'd dragged her out of the room and decided to change to another tack – so he threatened her to kill the boyfriend instead in front of her. And he'd told the battered boy that he would kill Maggie. That worked – then both of them couldn't wait to give up their friends and their location. So, their love for each other was greater than their loyalty to their group. Never mind, he couldn't let them go but maybe he would keep the girl around to play with – she was a sweet honeybun and anyway, since the Apocalypse, his libido had been raging. These days, he couldn't get enough sex, even though he had the lovely, more than accommodating Andrea in his bed. For the boy, maybe Milton could use him for his experiments on the Biters.

Living in a prison! There would be lots of ammo and supplies there. Now he could go after them – if they wouldn't join him, they were against him. In any case, they remained a threat to him and to his authority. With Daryl's and Maggie's people out there, Woodbury would never be safe. He would have to take action. And soon.

Chapter 3: Daryl gets captured by the Governor. Takes place before the Governor forces the two brothers to fight each other. A flashback taking place before Chapter 2 which helps to explain Daryl's mental state.

With reference to torture and male-on-male rape because I can totally imagine the Governor doing that. You know me by now – I don't hold anything back. But please don't read if it will trigger. Also another chance to trawl through Merle's mind.

'What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.' Friedrich Nietzsche

'Mathein-Pathein.' Ancient Greek proverb – (loosely translated) 'To suffer is to learn.'

Daryl was cursing his captors and struggling as they hustled him to the interrogation cells. 'Gi' the fuck off me! I'm gonna fuck ya'll up!' He roared. Then, 'Merle! Merle! What did yer do with my brother?' he screamed as he cried for Merle. He knew that he was here somewhere at the Governor's side. Then managing to get one arm free, he punched the man on his right and it took three of them to subdue him. They pistol-whipped him unconscious and dragged him off.

He woke up, stripped naked except for his underwear, and tied to what looked like a dentist's chair. There was a cut above his temple that was still bleeding. He shook his head to clear it, felt a dull throb and shivered with a sudden chill despite the heat of the Georgia summer. The Governor was standing across the desk from him and one of his heavies was with him – an overweight Hispanic man in a scruffy black rock T-shirt. His heart began to race, he had special reasons, more than most, for not liking being restrained and he began to sweat, despite having no clothes on. But he arranged his facial expression into one of contemptuous hostility. _Mustn't show fear_. _Don't give the bastard the satisfaction_.

The Governor rubbed his hands. 'Welcome back.' He said courteously. 'Now if you tell us what we need to know, we can get this over quickly and I can let you go back to wherever you came from. Otherwise…' He nodded silently at the open bag of dental surgical instruments on the desk.

'Yeah, like you'll just let me go back home. Do you think I'm a fucking idiot or something? And where's my brother, Merle?' Daryl's voice rose aggressively. 'Fuck yer. I ain't telling yer nothin'.' The heavy-set man moved threateningly towards him but the Governor waved him back.

'You'll notice that we've taken the liberty of stripping our prisoners – even the females. Helps in the breaking down process, so my psychological advisor informs me. You should be glad that we didn't strip you _completely_ like they did at Guantanamo Bay. It was a common interrogation technique there - you know how shy those Muslims about their bodies.'

'Fuck you, I ain't shy. '

'No, I don't believe _you_are.' The Governor eyed the lean Hunter's tanned, muscular body appreciatively with his one eye. And something about the way his gaze slithered all over him made Daryl's skin goosebump and a icy chill of fear stabbed his stomach. Was it going to happen _again_? Nevertheless, he deliberately made his face stony.

'We already know about the prison. How many of you? What supplies – food and ammo do you have? What is your leader's plan for us? We know that you are close to him.' The Governor asked patiently. 'Just tell me and we'll let you go.'

'I ain't giving up _my people_ (he meant _my family_) to you fucking assholes. You'll have to kill me.' Daryl growled.

'Maybe. But we'll have lots of fun together first.' The Governor said cheerfully. Then changing tack, 'Forgive me but I couldn't help noticing ….- Where _did_ you get all _those terrible scars_ on your back?' 'Was _Daddy_a little too handy with his belt?' He asked, his voice dripping with fake, syrupy sympathy.

Daryl broke off his aggressive glare at the Governor and trembled almost imperceptibly at the mention of his father. The Governor didn't miss it – he never missed _anything_. Even with only one good eye left. This particular prisoner was so vulnerableand this made him especially beautiful to the Governor. At that particular moment, he genuinely wanted to comfort him. So, he approached the prisoner slowly to tenderly stroke a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. As if to soothe him. But Daryl immediately flinched back from his fingers like they burned his skin. 'There, there.' The Governor reassured. 'We won't hurt you like your Daddy did. I promise.' But he was thinking triumphantly _Not so tough after all. I can break you now_.

'Tell me, did your Daddy fuck you too? ' The Governor sweetly asked suddenly, seemingly to invite confidence. 'He did, didn't he?'

But then the prisoner defiantly straightened up again. 'Yeah, he did.' He drawled candidly. 'And I killed him for it.' He spoke tonelessly but raised baby blue eyes so brimming with burning rage and hatred that even the Governor automatically took a step back. Although Daryl was tied to a chair and posed no threat. 'And I'll kill you _too_, you sick fuck.' Snarling his promise.

The Governor had been put ill at ease by this fierce and rough inbred redneck, despite himself. Yet the prisoner had more depth to him – he wasn't just the typical white trash stereotype. A particularly intriguing case, he'd never met a man who appeared to be so easily wounded and fragile one minute and then so ferociously strong and defiant the next. A fascinating complex mix of contrasts. What made him even more exciting was that he knew that Daryl could easily snap his neck in a fair fight. But that the Governor had him tied down and at his mercy. _In his power_. And he felt himself getting aroused with this thought, like with the girl. Even more so, because under different circumstances, this vulnerable prisoner would be a powerful enemy. Therefore, breaking him down was going to be a tricky but rewarding challenge.

Anyway, he'd had enough of the opening pleasantries. It was clear that the redneck needed some encouragement to talk. What was it with these people? First Maggie and now Daryl. Why did they defy him so? But he liked the stubborn ones, they were always _more_ _fun_. If the bag of goodies on the table didn't work, he would have to try something else _more persuasive_he thought as his eyes lingered longingly on Daryl's flat stomach and toned biceps that spoke of a healthy life led outdoors. Out in the green fields and gleaming forests, in the shining sun and fresh air. But he would never again feel the sun's warmth on his skin or breathe in the fresh morning breeze, smelling of pine, coming down from the mountains. The Governor would make sure of _that_.

Now, however, he nodded to his heavy to hold Daryl down and picked up a dental drill. 'Now, now.' He said soothingly, raising it aloft as Daryl began to thrash around but suddenly there was a loud knock on the door. The heavy covered Daryl's mouth with his hand so that he couldn't make a noise. 'What now!' The Governor barked impatiently. He'd been looking forward to breaking down this_particular_ prisoner. He strode outside, carefully closing the door behind him. Seeing Merle, he wondered exactly how incest worked in Daryl's family. Had the father fucked the older brother as well, he thought, looking at Merle with new eyes? And had Merle and Daryl shared times of special brotherly bonding? He shook his head at the complexity of family relationships in the uneducated peasant under-classes. He wasn't even going to _try_ to understand. So, he silently ushered the other brother into another empty interrogation room down the corridor. Because of course, he didn't want Merle to know that Daryl was there as a prisoner, it would spoil the nice surprise he had planned for him at tonight's party. The happy reunion. It was lucky that they hadn't heard each other's voices.

'What is it _now_?' he asked his second-in-command impatiently. There was trouble at the perimeter and the Governor would have to go out there himself. Probably no time to _personally interrogate_ the prisoner today. Never mind. The details didn't matter – they outnumbered and probably outgunned the prison community with all the arms from the National Guard militia. After all, he didn't need more information to prepare his proactive strike against the prison. Nevertheless, he sighed in disappointment. Well, the festivities would have to do.

He told Merle to wait and went back to instruct his heavy to take Daryl back to his cell until tonight. To keep him trussed up but get him dressed first in his clothes, ready for tonight. It wouldn't do to scare the audience. But for all of them to leave him alone. He hoped the pretty-boy (pretty in a kind of unkempt, redneck way) killed his older brother, he had special fun-times planned for him. Involving whips, handcuffs and ball-gags. After all, his father had already broken him in, he must be _good_. He licked his lips lasciviously and felt himself becoming hard at the thought. No, he wouldn't let his boys touch him, he knew that they would fall upon this pretty-boy with his prominent high cheek-bones and muscular body like rabid dogs. Unless he gave them specific instructions not to and he wanted this sweet morsel all to himself. He had discovered raping other men –who needed to be restrained, was even more exciting than forcing himself on women although he had never classed himself as bisexual. But women kind of expected it if they were captured, didn't they? They always had that resigned look of terror in their eyes, expecting the worst. Just look at history and see what happened to women. It was a sanctioned weapon of war. And it was war – war against the prison community who insisted on defying his authority.

Back in the cells, Daryl tried to stop shaking, to bring himself finally under control. It'd been a close call there with the drill until the Governor was mercifully interrupted. And Daryl had seen the look in the bastard's eye, knew what it meant. Worse – two of the guards including the Hispanic heavy and another weasely one he didn't know had already roughly grabbed his ass and groped his crotch before they'd allowed him to get dressed in his dirty ragged clothes and tied his hands behind him again. They'd mockingly called him 'Daddy Fucker' and 'Sweet Cheeks' and laughed dirtily at that. Finally, the Hispanic (the other asshole had called him Caesar) had stroked his cheek in a way that made Daryl's skin crawl and whispered in his ear '_Maybe he'll let us play with you later, pretty boy_. _After he's done with you_.' Daryl had shuddered and cringed and told them to '_Fuck off_ _and to get their filthy hands off him'_before the ferret-faced guard had punched him. He'd only just come to again and he had no idea of how much time had passed. His hands were still bound tightly behind his back but apart from that, he seemed whole and intact. Apart from another throbbing bruise blooming on his other temple.

In the dark stinking cell, he prayed that they would stay away and instinctively tried to send out calls with his mind to Merle to come and save him, _Merle! Merle! He's got me! He's gonna hurt me!_ _Really hurt me!_Because without being even aware of it, he'd reverted back to being_Little Darlena_ mocked by Merle for not being tough enough to fight his own battles. But even _Little Darlena_ had finally stood up to their father, pushed to the limits of his endurance when he'd murdered him and got away with it. And Merle had been gone. Finally done what _Merle_ had never had the guts to do although he'd fantasied aloud about it almost daily. Because whenever Daryl had been afraid or in trouble, these silent calls from his mind had often seemed to summon Merle to wherever Daryl was. If he was near enough, that was. Anyway, his big brother had more often than not seemed to know when Daryl was scared and come running to save him. Whether it was some bigger kids picking on him until Merle taught him how to fight properly '_Yer better tough'n up, yer littl' pussy_ _so I don't always have to come a- runnin' to save yer useless hide'_or when their father was on one of his drunken rampages, as usual. And given him a light punch on the arm or kick to the leg to emphasise his point. Daryl had heard about this phenomenon with identical twins but never with ordinary brothers but him and Merle weren't exactly normal siblings from a normal family. Maybe that was why. And they'd never spoken openly about it but it was just something that _was_.

Merle was walking the city wall perimeter with the Governor, discussing how the defences could be reinforced and where best those on wall duty should be placed. Making good use of his military knowledge and training. Below, the inhuman growls and groans of the Biters could be heard but at safe distance. On the way, he saw Andrea practising target practice, shooting down a Biter with another woman and she waved a greeting to him and the Governor. Suddenly, something made him think of his brother. Just a feeling that he was in trouble and that he was _here_ in Woodbury. He mentally pushed away the prickle of fear running up and down his spine. It would not do good to bring up his brother to the Governor. Merle no longer trusted the man – he seemed to become more and more unhinged of late – especially since he'd lost his eye. And Merle had lied to him about Michonne – it had just seemed easier at the time. He knew that he man did not forgive errors easily. It was just one little white lie – she was as good as dead in the forest, wasn't she? He couldn't have found out could he? He'd seen what happened to those the Governor deemed had betrayed him – many ended up in the screamer pits or in his Saturday night gladiator shows. There was going to be another freak show tonight.

Later that night, in the arena, Merle would see how the Governor was looking at his baby brother and he'd instinctively got in front of the disorientated Daryl to shield him from the bastard's lecherous gaze with his broader body. He'd never pegged the asshole for being a low-down dirty homo fag. But of course he'd heard the rumours about what happened to prisoners – both _males_and females, just had brushed them off. After all, he owed the man his life. Then, he'd looked back over his shoulder and checked Daryl over like he used to when they were kids – _was he hurt?_ _Had the sick fuck hurt him?_Strange, how these thoughts came to him now although his baby brother was a fully-grown man and fully capable of handling himself. Had proved it numerous times in fact - protected the group who depended on him for their survival. And despite himself, Merle found himself thinking these fiercely protective big brother thoughts. Like he was thirteen-year old_Big Bad Bro Merle_ and Daryl was five-year old _Little Daryl_ again. Like when they were kids. _Old habits die hard_, he thought bitterly. _Instincts too_.

Anyway, he knew what the crazy bastard was capable of. And if he'd touched _his_ baby brother, Merle was going to come back and kill the bastard when they got out of there. Kill him _slowly_. With a _whole world of_ _hurt_. However, he saw with relief that although looking thinner than usual and with a couple of nasty bruises on his head, Daryl seemed none the worse for wear. But he knew what would happen to Daryl if his brother by some miracle won this fight to the death. The Governor would kill him anyway after he'd had his fun with him.

Luckily, Daryl didn't notice the Governor right away because after they'd untied his hands and taken off the blindfold, he was gazing around fearfully at the screaming audience. At the Biters being held back for now, trying to get his bearings. Before his facial expression hardened and he went into fighting mode. Swinging from side to side with his fists up. Like Merle had taught him. But Merle wasn't gonna let anything happen to his baby brother. He had to save Daryl – like he used to when they were kids. Before he went away and abandoned him. This time him and Daryl were going to be together forever and he never going to leave him ever again. He was going to save them _both_. But he would have to hurt Daryl first – this was what the psycho had forced him to. Hurt Daryl first in order to save him.


	5. Daryl's Childhood Continued

**Daryl's Story Chapter 5**

**Note to the reader:contains harrowing sexual and physical abuse, so please be warned. I guess I am writing from a ****_very dark _****place but I want to show how amazing it is that Daryl has survived at all and kept his humanity after such a horrific childhood. I want to people to just understand his background first and where he's coming from before I focus on the story in the present. But things will get better for Daryl, I promise.**

He tossed and turned in bed while Carol and the others were on duty outside, - on watch, doing their endless washing or cooking or bitching about Shane and Lori or whatever else they did. He was still recovering and with the painkillers and whiskey wearing off, found himself going back to where he never wanted to be again – the place he blocked out when he was awake. The past is another country that we can never escape from, no matter how far we try to get away from it.

He's ten years old again, nearly eleven. His older brother Merle has just taken off – he had defended their mother against one of their father's violent drunken rages but then he had just left Daryl to face his father's wrath. Of course, Daddy had never _really_ hurt him yet, not like he'd punished Merle, apart from the odd slap or kick to the shins. So that's why Merle had probably left him because he thought he would be safe. For a while he was – Daddy focused his resentment at the absent Merle – cursing his abandoning them. Although to Daryl, it had always seemed that he had wanted Merle to leave – that Merle was a hopeless cause (_Ya useless sack of shit, git the fuck outta 'ere!_). So, Daryl couldn't understand why Daddy seemed so upset at his leaving. Daddy seemed cowed for a while but then when his face began to heal from his older brother's thrashing, he got his strength back. That's when he starts whipping Daryl with his belt for spilling paint in the barn, for forgetting to buy milk in the store– for supposedly answering back or showing disrespect. Just like he used to punish Merle, for any reason really. Daryl is replacing Merle as the focus of Daddy's rage, especially when he loses his job at the local car garage because of drinking. The recession is in full swing and Daddy can no longer rely on the odd jobs that used to keep them from the edge of poverty. Daddy is home all day, every day and there's hardly any money – the money they have, he spends on drink. In his drunken rages, he attacks Mama and Daryl, Daryl wants to leave but he feels he should stay for Mama, who after all, is a bed-bound invalid. When he can, young as he is, he tries to divert Daddy's rage from Mama, just like Merle used to. He's also learnt a way to take himself to somewhere else, to _leave_ when Daddy hurts him, so he can't even feel the pain until afterwards.

Then the terrible thing happens. One evening, Mama passes out from the liquid she drinks from her 'medicinal' flask and leaves several cigarettes burning in the ashtray on the table. Unfortunately, they set the curtain alight and then his parents' bedroom. And because Daddy and Daryl have been out on a long hunt, when they drag out her body and extinguish the fire, it's too late. The fire crew come round but declare her dead from smoke inhalation at the scene but they manage to save most of the house. Daryl and Daddy grieve together but they work for a few months restoring it themselves.

About a week after the funeral, after a particularly savage punishment with his father's belt that left life-long faded red and white scars on his body, Daryl 'got lost' in the woods for more than a week. He fended for himself by shooting down prey such as squirrel and eating nuts and berries. When he came back and made a sandwich in the kitchen, his father, who always started drinking when he woke up, hadn't even noticed that he'd been gone.

A few weeks later, Daddy started acting strangely. He would come into Daryl's bedroom and into his bed and say that he needed some 'comfort' because Mama was gone. He said that it was what all fathers and sons did just no one talked about it but Daryl never dared to ask Daddy if he and Merle had done these secret things too.

Daryl was just eleven years old.

At the same time, Daddy stopped beating him with the belt. And during these times in his bedroom, although he said that this was his 'special' punishment for being a 'very bad boy', he never told him what he was supposed to have done. Although he tells him that its partly his punishment for killing his Mama.

So, Daryl began to unconsciously think that it was something in him that was born bad, something that couldn't be put right _ever_.

When Daddy was hurting him in this way instead of using his belt, Daryl found it more difficult to 'go somewhere else'. After one time, when Daddy cuffed him to the bed, held a knife to his throat and shoved a dirty rag into his mouth, Daryl decided that he couldn't take anymore.

He was twelve years old.

It was a particularly brutal attack as his father didn't stop all night long. The next day, Daryl decided that he'd had enough – he was old enough to know what he and his Daddy did was 'unnatural', despite what his father said. That night, he saw his father passed out on the couch and lit the unlit fire (luckily it was a cold winter's night) until the flames rose higher and higher. Then, he messed up the living room as quietly as he could, sure that his father would not wake up in his drunken stupor (he'd been drinking whiskey and vodka with rum and coke all day). Daryl then smashed some ornaments from the mantle-piece and broke a couple of chairs. Finally, he took a burning log and threw it at the curtains. People would think that his father had got drunk and thrown stuff around as usual. When the police asked where he was, he would tell them he slept in the forest. Everyone in the hill village knew that whenever his Daddy beat him severely, he would run away to live in the woods. That he was capable of surviving there even in the middle of winter and that his hunting and trapping skills were legendary, even at such a young age.

Anyway, the whole house could burn down he didn't care, as long as it meant his father would never do _that_ to him again. The house did burn down before the neighbours noticed (they used to drink and smoke meth sometimes with Daddy) and called the Fire Department. Later, Daryl thought it was ironic that both his parents had died in the same way, both passed out from liquor and in house fires. He was sorry about Mama of course, but felt glad that Daddy would never be able to touch him again.

He'd blocked out these memories for a very long time until when he saw Merle again, they started to come flooding back. He tried not to think about them during the day, everyone had to focus on survival. Then Merle had seen the scars on his back and made him tell him his secret shame.

But they often haunted his sleep. Carol came back to find Daryl tossing and turning, threatening to tear the stitches in his side. She listened while he whispered in an unrecognisable little boy's voice, 'Please Daddy, don't…don't do that.' He whimpered. 'I'll be a good boy, I'm good, no, don't. Gi' off me. Please _don't_.' he begged. She instinctively knew what he was dreaming. She gently stroked his hair and whispered 'Sh..sh…, you're safe, you're safe. Daryl, _he_ can't hurt you anymore.' And Daryl didn't wake up but he began to quieten, as if he had responded to her voice in his sleep. Finally, his thrashing limbs began to relax and he fell into a light sleep.

And she knew that would die first before she ever told any of this to him. That she knew. She'd guessed, anyway, the aggressive (sometimes violent) reaction when he felt the least bit threatened, the self-loathing veiled thinly by an outside veneer of toughness and strength. The almost hostile reclusiveness aimed at keeping others at a distance.

But the strength wasn't a lie.


	6. Andrea almost kills Daryl

**Chapter 6**

Earlier that day.

Daryl stumbled forwards, half dead, the arrow sticking out of his side, his makeshift bandage and vest bloody and getting bloodier. He gritted his teeth against the pain in his pierced side. 'Com'on motherfucker, com'on you stupid son of a bitch. Got yourself impaled by your own damn arrow. Darlena, you stupid redneck bastard.' He muttered incoherently to himself. He made it to the edge of the field just in view of the look-out posts set up by Rick. Andrea was on duty with her binoculars and cried out excitedly 'Walker'! Her cry was quickly taken up by the others.

'No, no! It's me! It's Daryl!' He tried to shout but had no strength left. 'Don't shoot!' But his voice only came out in a croak. He staggered forth as fast as he could go.

'Just the one?' Someone shouted.

'Yep. No problem, I'll take it.' Andrea shouted gleefully, eager to prove her worth to the group. Quickly, she took her crossbow and drew it back. She shot her arrow but luckily she still needed practice because it missed Daryl's head and pierced his shoulder instead. He went down like a sack of potatoes, already mercifully unconscious. By then, Andrea's gleeful expression changed into one of horror as she realised her mistake. 'Oh my God, oh my God, Daryl!' she screamed as she ran forward. 'Don't die, don't die!' By then Rick and Shane had reached the injured man and lifted him up. They half carried and half-dragged him across the field to the medical tent.

'I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry.' Andrea kept repeating but of course Daryl couldn't hear her. She turned to the others. 'Will he be OK'?

Rick answered her calmly. 'I think so if we get him seen to right away. The wounds don't look serious just messy.'

Andrea looked back behind them and spotted something white gleaming on the field. She sprinted back and picked it up and showed it to the others. 'Look at what he was bringing back. He found Sophia's doll.'

Back in the trailer, Carol is gazing down on Daryl's lean and tanned body while holding her daughter's doll in her arms. Daryl keeps waking up and falling asleep again, mainly from the painkillers and physical exhaustion. She's just washed and dried it in the sun outside it being quite dirty – covered with dirt, grass and even some blood. Daryl's? She hopes it wasn't Sophia's. He begins to stir again from his drugged slumber. He slowly opens his eyes and smiles at her. His smile is almost boyishly innocent and it illuminates his whole face, in contrast to the usual snarl that he shows to the outside world.

Daryl's smile slowly dies as if he suddenly remembered where he was and it is replaced by his normal stern expression. He frowned. 'I'm sorry I couldn't find her for you.' He croaked.

'You tried your best.' Tears came into her eyes at the thought of her lost daughter and she looked away so he wouldn't see them. 'Here have some water.' She held the paper cup up to his lips as he sipped.

She smoothed back a sweaty strand of hair from his forehead, ignoring his flinch. 'I _see_ you, Daryl. You aren't the sum of the things _he_ did to you. I _saw_ you when I first met you. You aren't just what you pretend to be. Give it time and the others will see you as well. I see your goodness and your compassion for my little girl. Your strength.'

'Jus' like yer ain't all the things that bastard did to you?' He retorted angrily as she took his empty cup away.

'Would you like some more?' She asked him but he shook his head. 'Thanks.' He said gruffly, as if in afterthought.

'I'm not saying that stuff doesn't change you but you didn't lose yourself. You didn't let him ruin you.' She continued. Some indefinable emotion flickered behind his eyes as he lowered them, some sharp pain from the past that he didn't want her to see but that she caught a glimpse of anyway.

'It _was_ your father who did that to your back, wasn't it?' She asked him softly.

He hunched his shoulders defensively and looked down at his lap as he nodded. 'Yeah. But I ain't no saint. I've done some bad stuff you don't want to know.'

'You mean killed someone to survive? We've all done that by now.'

Daryl didn't meet her eyes.

'You could say I did even _before_the Apocalypse.'

Carol looked a little shocked but said nothing. Daryl continued hurriedly, as if he has revealed too much.

'Well, I didn't find your little girl. What the hell of any use am I?' He burst out abruptly.

Carol reached over and gently put a hand on his arm. For once, he didn't move away when touched like he usually did but left his arm right where it was. 'But you've tried longer and harder than anyone else in the camp. You've done more for Sophia than her father ever did her whole life. I'll never forget it until the day I die.'

'But I didn't _find_her.' He insisted.

She let go of his arm. 'But you bought her doll back for me and there's still hope. I can feel that she's not gone, a mother knows these things. I know we'll see her again. She came to me in a dream last night – she was in this beautiful green field full of beautiful white flowers – roses I think.'

'That's crazy.' Daryl laughed but not unkindly. 'But I hope it comes true.'


	7. Rick's dilemma, more Merle POV

**Chapter 7: Rick's Dilemma (events leading up to Merle's death). More insight into Rick's character and more Merle POV in his last moments, another chance to trawl through the bottomless, black abyss that is his mind.**

Rick was tossing and turning, the sweat dripping down his face and back. He could see Lori again in the long, flowing white dress she wore when they were 18, the first time he saw her. Her long, dark hair was streaming out behind her but there was no breeze, her bright red painted mouth slightly open. Now she was everywhere - in the corners of his room when he looked around or suddenly in front of him. When she sat on his bed, he could sense it sink slightly with her weight. But she said nothing, merely looked at him. Was he going crazy again? She even looked as she had back then the first time they'd met. When they never could have imagined this kind of world lying in wait for them in the deceptively far-off future. But the time that they'd been allowed together had been painfully short. 18. Impossibly young, fresh and innocent. How naïve, believing that the best was yet to come. That they would finally own the house from his cop's salary and grow old together with their grandchildren playing at their feet. What did mortgages and bank loans matter anymore? What use was money? The only thing that mattered now was sheer survival – and that meant having adequate shelter, food and weapons. These were the currency of this savage New Age. If they had known, would they have done anything different? Would they still have had had Carl? Lori had tried to get rid of the second child but then changed her mind, vomiting up the pills at the last minute. Then she'd screamed at him how could he expect her to bring a baby into a savage world like this just to be ripped apart and fed upon? He'd cruelly retorted 'Was it Shane's?' to let her know that he knew. Not that they were ever likely to find out. Did it even matter who's she was? Real, living humans had become precious because they'd already lost so many people. And Shane and Lori were gone, this baby, whoever she was, didn't have any other parent other than Rick.

He'd tried his best to love her and it was getting easier – nevertheless it was difficult knowing that she was the cause of his wife's death and possibly the ever-present reminder of his wife's infidelity. But they didn't know that for sure. Lori's death had caused Rick to go into temporary meltdown – if not for Daryl and a few of the others, the baby would have died for sure. But Daryl had taken to her immediately – he didn't care who's she was and had simply showered love on her. Rick hoped that this would more than make up for his shortfall. For this and for saving her, Rick would always be grateful to him because Daryl had refused to lose anyone else. This spontaneous act of human compassion had forged an unbreakable bond of trust and mutual respect between the two men and Daryl would now obey Rick's orders. Moreover, Daryl had proved himself a good and fair leader and capable of protecting the group numerous times. Rick had seen that Judith always brought a sweet smile to the gruff Hunter's face when he tenderly picked up 'the littl' ass-kicker'' to hold her or feed her after his daily exertions. So, Carol and Beth would always save the last feed before bedtime for him, as Daryl insisted. But Rick worried that the little baby sensed that he himself was withholding some of his love. Some people said that children, even infants could sense this, couldn't they? He hoped not. In any case, he hoped that being the little darling of the group would more than make up for it- most of the others also showered affection on her and treated her like a kind of lucky mascot for their group.

Why bring a baby into this living hell? Why indeed? Because human beings had to have hope. No matter what you did to them, they would keep on trying, never give up. Well most of them didn't and it was Rick's job to keep their hope alive as well as their physical bodies. Of course, there had been exceptions - Andrea and Beth had both wanted to go to sleep and never wake up again and he'd heard that the epidemic had brought on a spate of suicides. Although now Rick still shouldered the burden of responsibility for the others more than ever, at least he could now share it with Daryl. And Lori had sacrificed herself for this baby even though she had known that having it would probably kill her. One day Rick would show Judith photos of her beautiful mother and tell her how much she had loved her and what she had done for her. How she had loved her before she was even born. For the most part.

And Carl would die to protect his little sister. Just like Lori had told him to. Burdened him with too much responsibility before she died but what else could she do? None of the old rules applied anymore. Yet this burden was so crushing for someone so young. In another life he would have been arguing with them about watching TV instead of doing his homework or shooting monsters on his computer instead of killing them in real life.

Ah Carl, the child who would never ever get back his childhood. Rick sighed. He was so young – just 12 years old but already had the old, knowing eyes of someone 5 times his age. Shane had taught him to shoot and kill Walkers by stabbing them in the head and Carl had already shot his first living people – some of the Governor's men when they came to attack the prison. He'd also protected his mother and Maggie when Lori was giving birth. So, Rick no longer worried when the boy went off into the forest on his own which he did frequently. Without telling anyone where he went or what he was doing. Rick didn't bother to enquire anymore because this was too much like how parents and children used to behave in the old world. Often, when the boy spoke these days, he sounded eerily like a stern little adult then cold, icy cold fingers would slither down Rick's spine. Then he would feel that familiar stab of guilt because Carl had been the one who had to kill his own mother properly so that she couldn't come back. Because that would have been far worse. What had it done to his son? It should have been Rick who had finished her off. Worse, the only time Carl sounded like the child he was these days was when he woke up screaming and sobbing in the night, dreaming again about shooting his mother in the head. Only then would he let his father hold him and rock him back to sleep.

Was she really there? He begged her to tell him what he should do but she remained silent – only an enigmatic smile haunting her lips. Michonne. The Governor's offer was too tempting – peace for them if they gave her up. She wasn't a real member of the group – kind of a loner who hadn't bothered to form any bonds except with Andrea. Maybe she was lesbian although he hadn't sensed any vibes like that between them – more like a sisterly love. In fact, she intimidated most people and made them uncomfortable because she never smiled but looked straight through you. Usually in icy silence to your friendly greeting or your question. Had never really reached out to anyone except Andrea but no doubt she had been through hell, out there by herself for months. And those Walkers she had had as pets, like trophies – that was creepy in itself, even if she had used them for camouflage. Cut off their arms and bashed their teeth out with rocks. Her icy glare alone could petrify you like a beautiful dreadlocked Medusa. In fact, he reasoned, the only person who would be upset about her loss would be Andrea but he reckoned but no-one else outside the inner circle needed to know. He could lie about what had happened to Michonne, couldn't he? She wouldn't find out, would she?

Take the easy way out.

Those two had spent the winter together while Michonne tried to save Andrea's life. Andrea had been very sick. But Michonne had proved herself in battle – had even wounded the Governor – unfortunately not fatally. So now that he had this difficult dilemma before him.

He was the leader and he felt the full weight of the responsibility on his shoulders. He could listen to Daryl's and Herschel's advice, but in the end it was his decision, his alone. There was no instructions manual to follow about what he should do in this situation and in any case, the outdated moral code didn't apply anymore. Who was to say what was fair or right now? Where were the courts and judges? Morality, in any case, was relative and he had only his conscience to go on. Now that the old world had passed away – it was just the Living and the Dead and the living Undead.

Rick knew intuitively that Daryl would now obey without question to do whatever Rick asked. Although he might protest first. No, Daryl wouldn't like it – he was far too honest because what you saw is what you got with Daryl. A man with a strict code of honour. But if Rick decided to hand her over, he'd want Merle to do it. He'd never liked Daryl's crude and loud-mouth brother and the way he treated him. Putting him down all the time, calling him a 'Soft Pussy', 'Pansy Homo', 'Baby Lover' and 'Dumb as Shit Daryl.' At these times he'd felt a surge of protective anger at seeing him being beaten down verbally by his older brother but had decided to stay out of it – it would only make Daryl look bad. Besides, most times Daryl gave his big brother as good as he got. Still, he couldn't help wondering if that's what Merle had done to him when they were kids? But Rick had an idea that a lot worse had happened to Daryl, probably at the hands of his father- just call it an intuition. Merle had also started teasing Carol and Daryl mercilessly about their friendship, making smutty innuendo about the two of them to embarrass them in front of everybody. Daryl would go red, hunch his shoulders and look at the ground and Carol would laugh nervously and tell Merle to shut up. And who could forget what he'd done to Glenn and that he'd been the Governor's man? Nearly executed him and Maggie. How much would it take for him to betray them and go back to him? Probably the only thing stopping him was his brother in Rick's camp. Probably the only person he would ever be loyal to. Yes, the betrayal would be the perfect job for Merle. And Rick couldn't help hoping that somehow he wouldn't make it back. Better for Daryl – better for everyone. Although Daryl probably wouldn't see it that way but he'd be better off in the long run.

No, Rick didn't like loose ends or loose cannons in his group. They were dangerous. Besides, he was a neat man who liked order. He'd made his decision and would tell the inner circle tomorrow. Later he would change his mind but it would be too late for Daryl's older brother.

Finally, Daryl's brother had done the right thing and released Michonne to continue the good fight back at the prison. Merle knew that she would be a valuable asset – she who'd managed to survive for months alone in the forest. Had had the ingenuity to make pets of the Walkers and use them as protection. Tough like his baby brother, Merle thought as his last thoughts turned to Daryl. But could he survive without him? At least in the end everyone would know that he had finally done what was right, if the black bitch told the truth and she ought to – that he'd let her go. She'd appealed successfully to his humanity – guess he wasn't such a badass after all. Released her rather than give her up to that monster who resembled his father in so many ways – just that he was more handsome, better educated and had a more persuasive way with words. Merle knew that monsters came in all shapes and guises – some were just better at hiding their true natures than others. Did Rick really think that the Governor would just stop and forget about them – the prison community that he didn't control and that posed a possible threat? For someone so smart, Rick was really dumb at times. He remembered how the Governor had ordered him and his brother to fight to the death in the makeshift arena where they'd set Walkers on them. Having just found Daryl again, the sick bastard commanded him to kill his own baby brother, just for the entertainment of the braying mob. Merle recalled the look of fear and confusion in Daryl's eyes as he'd glanced sideways at Merle. Always the gentle one, his baby brother. Too gentle for his own good although Merle had tried to teach him. And Merle had to hit him first, really beat the shit out of him to put on a show for the Governor so that they could escape before Daryl started fighting back, just as viciously. And those ordinary townspeople who had turned into a blood-thirsty mob – animals reverted back to their most base instincts, yelling him on to kill his own little brother. How they had resembled the Walkers in their growls and snarls when whipped up in a frenzy by that psychopath. Before Rick and the others had come and saved them. Remembering this, Merle had finally given in to Michonne's arguments. He hadn't wanted to do it anyway but he thought that he would gain acceptance, maybe even forgiveness from the group so he could stay with Daryl. Now he realised the opposite would have been true.

But it was too late to turn back – he was sure that he could kill the sick bastard by himself. If he killed him, then he could return and maybe be forgiven. In any case, he had to protect Daryl - the Governor would never stop hunting him now. Hell – he didn't even want to be with those people but his brother refused to leave them for some reason. He just wished that they'd had more time together after being reunited, so much time lost because he'd walked out that door. Because he'd been a coward and run away and left his baby brother behind to face that twisted monster. Alone. To not be only physically scarred by their him - he could tell by the way Daryl flinched or cringed sometimes at nothing. When all Merle had ever wanted was to protect him, had instinctively known that Daryl couldn't stand the punishments as well as Merle could. But then the perverted fuck had gone further with him than he had with his older brother.

He admitted that he hadn't always been kind to him, had teased him a lot but it had been for his own good. Played harmless pranks on him sometimes. But he'd always made sure that Daryl knew that he loved him, even if he had been cruel to be kind. Always made sure he had enough to eat, even if he had to go stealing and protected him from their father's rages when he was there. But he knew that his brother hated him for leaving, saw it as an unforgiveable betrayal. Would Daryl ever forgive him for what he'd allowed to happen to him? Did he still love him like he used to? Or had he already transferred the love he used to have for his older brother to the group instead?

He would have put things right between him and them. Because that's what Daryl wanted and because these people gave him a home and a purpose. Because Merle owed him that. Had noticed how they looked at him with affection, how they cared about him, how they trusted him with their lives - neither of them had had this from their own family. Had seen how Daryl seemed to almost physically grow with what they gave him, after their father had done his best to pound him down into nothing. Now, facing what was coming, Merle even felt grateful to Carol instead of furiously jealous that she would be there to look after Daryl after he was gone.

Could they have eventually looked at Merle in the same way? He wanted to change, would have changed for Daryl.

But now it was too late. He'd let the black bitch go and gone after the psycho himself because even he drew the line at some of Governor's sick shit. For example, what he'd tried to do to him and Daryl and the things he would do to her when he had her finally in his clutches. No poor bastard deserved what he would do to them. Now he was in agony from the two fingers the bastard had bitten off but ignoring the pain, he'd lunged at him with his sword arm. One last bold attempt at defiance but the Governor overpowered him. Merle knew that he was beaten.

Then, the last image came to his mind of an early summer's day in a beautiful green meadow, near their house which was surrounded by the rustling forest. Their favourite place where he would wait for Daryl. And a single, lonely white rose, glowing gold in its centre with five-year old Daryl smelling it but not picking it. But this time, Merle didn't mock him but smelled the rose too. Sniffed its heady, summer sweet perfume. It was one of the few times they had been happy because Daddy had gone away on a weekend-long hunting trip with his drinking meth-head buddies. Knowing that he wouldn't be waiting for them when they got home.

'Good night, baby brother.' He whispered so the Governor wouldn't hear.

Then louder. 'I ain't gonna beg.' He told the Governor. And he held onto the memory.

'No.' the other replied simply.

The shot rang out.


	8. Daryl has to kill Merle

**Chapter 8 Daryl has to kill his brother when he turns**

Daryl crossed the field strewn with dead corpses, his hunting dagger swinging by his side and his trade-mark crossbow dangling from his back. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach but without knowing why. He wasn't scared of the mindless hordes or of the Governor and his men so why did he feel so full of dread? Where was Merle, anyway? On the way, he dispatched a few walkers who were gorging themselves on half-consumed body parts. He had seen so many that they no longer disgusted or made him want to put them out of their misery.

Until he saw a blonde crew-cut bobbing up and down, the walker feeding with its face buried in the corpse's stomach. Their favourite part was always the entrails. Then his older brother's head rose from the body, trailing steaming bloody intestines from his dripping, red mouth and Daryl noticed the bloody gunshot wound in the middle of his white vest. Was that what killed him? Why hadn't who ever shot him made sure he wouldn't come back? Who could be so cruel? Who would leave him here for his baby brother to find? His brother's eyes were a feral yellow and the snarl was already rising from his throat but for one brief moment he imagined that there was a glimpse of recognition and then it was gone. That Merle was trying to reach out a hand to him as he staggered towards Daryl. Was it really true that they lost everything that once made them human beings? Of course some people back in the camp would argue that his brother had never been a human being in the first place. Other than feeling the loss of his military skills, the others would probably be glad that his brother was gone. But then they hadn't known about all times Merle had diverted their father's dubious attentions from his younger brother. Had always protected 'little Daryl' when he could. But then he left. Even if he had called him a 'nigger pussy' and 'a sissy boy' who was 'too soft and had better toughen up' while he was doing it. Had laughed at his love of flowers because he liked to smell their perfume, especially the roses. 'Ya wan' me make yer u' a _bookay_, hey, Darlena?' Had called him a 'Jew smartass' and 'a pansy bookworm'. But Merle had been right according to what happened when he left and what came after when the world went to shit. The weak did not usually survive.

Although most the group, of course had lost loved ones but they didn't understand that without Merle, Daryl was nothing, a no-one, had no-one and no common point of reference to understand the old world, let alone this new one. It wasn't just about blood.

Daryl began to back away, shoulders hunched and cringing from his brother's onslaught. His face contorted as he began to cry, quietly. _Daryl_ never cried because crying had always brought more blows or more pain. When Merle finally lunged at him, he pushed him away once, twice but was easily able to evade his brother's clumsy movements. Then he steeled himself for what he had to do, for his brother's sake, he wouldn't want to be left like this. He got his hunting knife out, the long serrated blade glinting in the sun and stabbed his brother in the chest with it to pin him to the ground and subdue him. Merle gave out what sounded like a death- cry. Then Daryl began stabbing him in the head. Because you had to get the brain. Blood and brains spurted everywhere. Sobbing louder now, he stabbed him again and again in the eye-sockets and again with a savage ferocity and then he fell back on the grass.

He was still there when the others found him. They saw Merle's body on the ground that had obviously turned and spotted Daryl's crossbow lying discarded on the ground. Then they saw Daryl covered in blood and started to shout his name, fearing that he was dead or worse, turned. Daryl barely heard their shouts - they seemed to becoming from far away. Rick was the first to reach him and then the others retreated to a respectful distance, as if sensing something that they shouldn't witness. Even Carol stayed back while crying for Daryl but not for Merle. She would never cry for _him_. 'He's OK, Daryl's OK'. Rick shouted back to the others. Faintly from across the field, Daryl sensed rather than heard audible sighs of relief and was surprised. 'What happened?' Rick asked.

Daryl said brokenly. 'I had to kill Merle. Some bastard shot him and he turned. He was feedin' when I got here. ' He turned away from Rick as the relentless sobs began to rack his body again and buried his face in his hands, ashamed of his weakness. Unable to hold them back, he muttered 'Only sissies cry, be a fuckin' man!' Finally, he whispered almost inaudibly to himself, 'Ya want some more, ya fuckin' cry-baby?' and embarrassed, he started to get up and leave. But then Rick put his arms round him. He half-expected Daryl to push him away, like he usually did because he hadn't let Rick touch him since...well, it didn't matter no more. But Daryl didn't but he stiffened at first. Of course, Rick had noticed that Daryl usually didn't like to be touched unless he was the one initiating the physical contact, usually by punching someone. So he held him, rocking him back and forth, no different to what he did with Carl when his own boy woke in the night after one of his frequent nightmares. After one of those merciless dark dreams where his son sees himself kill his mother over and over.

He didn't care if the others saw, there was no embarrassment. But they moved away and started doing other things, as if they sensed that by watching they were intruding on Daryl's grief. In any case, they probably didn't want to see their strongest man so vulnerable. Because maybe if he could break, they all could.

Besides, Rick had come to see Daryl in a different light since others told him that he had been mainly responsible for finding milk for Judith – that without Daryl's determination, she wouldn't have survived. Ever since he had tried so hard to find Carol's daughter when others had been so quick to give up, in fact. That most of the others were too scared to leave their shelter for the starving, crying baby. Then, he'd seen him holding her, feeding her and crooning to the 'littl' ass-kicker'. That was after he had emerged from that mental fog of his that he had retreated to for a time after his wife's death. Daryl who cared about the young and helpless while her own father had gone off to Crazy Town and neglected her. In fact, they had all come to see him differently, not merely respecting his hunting and fighting skills.

After a while, Rick gently released Daryl who sniffed and wiped his eyes. 'Do we know who did it?' he asked the Hunter.

'That bastard in Woodbury, I guess. I recognised some of his men over there. He pointed to the corpses. I'm going to _kill_ him and all of his men.' Daryl vowed furiously. 'I know nobody else is going to miss Merle. He wasn't much liked round here especially even before he did what he did to Glenn and Maggie. But he told me he was going to make it up to them.'

'That's not true….Daryl…'

'Shut up, don't lie to me! No-body else is going to be sorry that he's gone!' He angrily retorted.

'Maybe not but they care about _you_. _I _care about you.'

The younger man shook his head. ' I know _you _do. But _they_ don't. They just want me around because they think I'd be better at keeping them alive. I had to kill _my own_ _brother_.'

'I feel for you but there isn't hardly anyone who hasn't lost someone or had to kill a loved one. Carol cares about you. Judith loves you. She knows somehow that you saved her when I wasn't … _around_.'

Daryl's face brightens at the mention of the bright, bubbly baby.

'We're your family now.' Rick said simply. 'And we're going to go after the Governor together.'


	9. Merle's story (Full Merle POV)

**Chapter 9 Merle's Story  
**

**Hi. This is a POV from Merle's perspective as requested. I hope that it offers more insight into his character and the brothers' relationship because I can't believe that he's really gone and left Daryl alone. And I believe that he has a lot to say that they can't show in the TV series and now he never will.**

**Set after Chapter 2 - I know, I've played around with the sequence of events, hope that it's not too confusing.**

**Warning: contains harrowing sexual and physical abuse – please don't read if it will trigger. After this it will get happier, promise.**

**By the way, any racist language or views belong to the character, not the writer.**

Merle reluctantly followed his brother back to camp. Who were these people anyway? Officer Dick Friendly who apparently was the leader but that didn't mean Merle had to bow and scrape to him _neither_. And that little mousy old bitch Carol who was always crying, and worse still, seemed to have the hots for his brother and couldn't keep her hands off him. It had made him feel sick to see them together and he'd felt that old familiar stab of jealousy whenever other people tried to get close to his brother. They weren't _their_ _people_. Boys like Merle and Daryl didn't have _people_. These soft pricks would always look down on people like him and Daryl, he would never be their equal in their eyes, didn't his brother realise? Called them red-neck trash, meth-head scum behind their backs just 'cos they'd had better starts in life with half-decent parents and had finished high-school. But then, they didn't know what they'd gone through. Especially Daryl who'd got it worse. Far worse. They'd just judge them on their clothes and accent, the way they ate, even their vocabulary. You'd think the old social labels and class snobbery would be kind of irrelevant now, with precious few living people left. But Merle knew that people would always cling to their old prejudices and stereotypes. It was just human nature.

Poor, little naïve Daryl didn't realise they only tolerated him because he could fight and hunt food for them. Rick and Shane had treated him like their lackey, when they said 'Jump!', Daryl had said 'How high?'. Had he forgotten that they had handcuffed his brother to a roof-top and left him for the Walkers and caused the loss of his hand? Just because he'd had words with that fat nigger, T-Dog. Why would any sane white person want to protect a nigger? He wasn't going to shoot him anyways – was just bluffing. How could Daryl put them first before his own brother after that? What was Daryl hanging around with these people anyway? He didn't need them to survive, they needed _him_. And what was worse, they would only ever tolerate Merle because Daryl would insist on it. They needed no people but themselves, like it had always been when they were kids, trying to survive their father. What hurt him the most was that Daryl had accused him of abandoning him but it wasn't like that. Never had imagined in a million of years that he would ever have whipped _him _or the depths of depravity that the sick bastard would sink to. Should've known better – that when the _worthless piece of shit – why are you still here? Merle_ was gone, Daryl would be his replacement. True, he hadn't thought much about Daryl during the years he was away, hadn't even left so much as a forwarding address. But then most of the time he _couldn't_ come back anyway – he'd been serving in Iraq and Afghanistan, in between he'd been in prison for burglary and drugs. Naturally, he'd wanted to put as much distance between him and that house and its memories – hell, he'd nearly killed his Daddy – _thought_ he had before he left. But before the plague, he'd never actually killed anyone before and you couldn't call those ugly fucks walking out there people.

On some level, he knew that he had gone too far with the snivelling Chink kid, once he'd started, he couldn't stop especially when the little slanty-eyed prick refused to back down and tell him where Daryl was. Guess there was more of his Daddy in him than he realised. All he'd cared about was finding his brother and he hadn't cared what he had to do to find him. And he'd wanted to make those bastards who'd left him to die pay and then he'd suddenly had two of them in his clutches. But the kid was tougher than he'd looked because he'd killed the Walker Merle set on him, even when tied to the chair. Merle guessed the group wouldn't forgive him for _that_ when the little Gook started whining to them about it.

Truth was, he would have done anything to be reunited with his brother but even he'd been shocked when the Governor pushed Maggie, half-naked and crying into the room. Had wondered what the hell had been going on in the other room while he was beating the shit out of her boyfriend. But he'd made sure that it didn't show on his face – to someone like the Governor this would have been an unforgivable sign of weakness.

Then him and Daryl had had that oh-so- heart-warming heart-to-heart in the forest. That's when Merle had found out that the only thing in this world (such as it now was) that could ever make him cry was the thought of Daddy's filthy hands all over his little brother. And another was the sight of Daryl's baby smooth skin now rough with scars and old raised welts from Daddy's belt and burns from his cigarettes.

Like Merle's skin.

Ugly. Damaged. Permanent.

He'd thought that he'd lost the ability to – he hadn't since he was eight years old, that's when Daryl was born. Before Daryl, Daddy used to love Merle. But after Daryl was born, Daddy changed, started drinking more and that's when he became the _Useless_ _Sack of Shit_. Merle had taken the beatings, the whippings and the cigarettes put out on his bare skin without so much as a whimper because crying always led to more punishment. Had even deliberately provoked their father to make sure that he wouldn't hurt Daryl or their mother by playing up to his role as the black sheep of the family. Merle who had even amputated his own hand and cauterised the wound in order to survive while barely registering the pain; had finally wept when Daryl told him the sick things their Daddy had done to him. Then he'd taken him into his arms although they had never been particularly touchy-feely with each other. Except of course, when Daryl was _very_ _small_ and Mama and Daddy were fighting their drunken fights. And the yells and the screams would scare him. Especially when their father moved onto their Mama. Then he would climb, trembling, far too skinny, into his older brother's bed for Merle to hold him all night. 'Cos kid was always fuckin' tremblin' - and never ate enough- was too fragile to live in _their_ world.

And 13 year-old Merle would be irritated and hiss at his five-year old kid brother, 'What the fuck is wrong with ya now? Stop being such a little cry-baby!' Because he needed to toughen Daryl up. For his own good. Nevertheless, he always relented and let him into his bed. Always put one arm round him and pulled him against his chest so that Daryl could listen to his heartbeat because he knew that always soothed him. '_Merle _ain't gonna let anyone hurt ya. _Ever_. Especially not _him_.' He whispered vehemently and hugged him closer to him protectively. '_Just like I promised Mama. To keep ya safe._' But there was another crash and Daryl flinched when their mother screamed in pain as their father screamed drunken obscenities at her. Then he whimpered. 'Fuckin' littl' sissy.' Merle hissed at him, but nevertheless, he would stroke back Daryl's hair. 'Ssh. Stop being such a pussy. They'll stop soon.' He would comfort him. Until he was calm again enough to fall asleep when the noises next door stopped as their parents eventually passed out. And although Merle had teased him for being a scared little girl, protested reluctance at this troublesome burden of a little brother, he had secretly enjoyed the way Daryl needed him. Was never like that with anyone else - only Daryl and his big, blue trusting eyes could bring these feelings out of him - emotions that he never thought he had inside him in the first place.

Like he'd fuckin' _kill_ anyone who tried to touch Daryl.

Anyone who tried to _hurt _him.

Was this what it felt like to be a big brother?

Because sure as hell, nobody else gave a flying fuck if he lived or died.

No-one else looked up to him like he was the god of their world who saved him from all its monsters.

But luckily it looked like Baby Brother had toughened up some since those good ole days and now he didn't take no shit from no-one. And when the sick fuck had finally pushed him too far – even meek and mild Daryl had finally snapped and fought back. Killed the evil bastard at the tender age of 12, not even a teenager! Planned it and lied to the police and got away with it! Alone, with no help from anyone! Never told another adult what his Daddy was doing to him. It probably wouldn't have done any good anyway, not where they were from. Merle couldn't help but be proud of him and as far as he could see, Daryl didn't regret it, didn't feel guilty. Why should he? It was no different from killing someone who is shooting at you, especially these days, you did what you had to survive. Or from killing those decaying dumb fucks out there who were always trying to eat you alive. Merle only regretted that he hadn't killed the asshole first and spared Daryl that.

Spared him everything.

He knew that he had mercilessly teased Daryl, called him 'Littl' Darlena', 'Sissy-boy' or ' Pansy Flower-Lover' among other names but it had been for his own good. You didn't get by in their neighbourhood acting like a pussy. At least he'd never physically hurt him, not like Daddy punished Merle all the time. And yeah, maybe he had been a little jealous of Daryl - still innocent, untouched - no scars on _his _back, thanks to Merle. Of his uncanny ability to draw others to him while _no-one _wanted to be around _him_. Except other junkie losers like him that he knew would turn on him in a heartbeat to save their own worthless hides or to score. More like mutually convenient alliances in fact. And then there was Daryl, smiling sweetly despite all the shit he'd seen. Still believing in life, that one day it would smile and reward him rather than spit him out on the scrapheap which was inevitable when you were born a Dixon.

But Merle would have given anything to keep him that way. To protect him like he had promised Mama.

He had failed.

Little sweet Daryl who had once felt joy at the first rose of the summer – what the Indians and Mama had always called the Cherokee Rose. And Merle had laughed at him for it. Little innocent blue-eyed Daryl, whose big blue eyes would have filled with tears and terror. But he wouldn't have been able to spill them because with tears always came more pain – the hurting wouldn't stop. Merle knew this from bitter experience. Daryl wouldn't have even been allowed that one comfort. Their father had never done _that_ to him but he could imagine it – the stink of their father's sour whiskey breath and the sweat of his unwashed body crushing little Daryl's so that he could barely breathe. The pain, the terror, the humiliation and the disgust of it. Incest. Innocence savagely ripped away. The sick fuck had even blamed little Daryl - for _his_ perversion - told him that it was his fault because he was 'a bad boy' as if it were some kind of sick punishment. Given him a deep sense of shame for life – would he ever get over it? Shit – he had seen Daddy occasionally give Daryl a slap or a kick in the shins but he never thought he would have really _hurt_ him. Of course Merle had seen sex offenders, especially those who had targeted children in prison being tortured and getting some of their own medicine. Often with the screws turning a blind eye. Hell – sometimes they even helped to arrange it all. And he'd stayed out of it but now he understood the rage.

And that stupid bitch of a mother – she had never done anything for them, always pretending to be ill so that she could opt out of living a life with their father. But the boys _couldn't_ opt out. Little naïve Daryl had never seemed to realise that his mother was sick but her sickness was alcoholism and that she had never given a flying fuck about either of them. But Little Daryl needed to believe in their mother. He had believed the bull about the medicine. She knew what her husband was doing to Merle but as long as she had her wine and her Virginia Slims and he left her alone, she didn't care. 'Medicinal flask!' He'd scoffed. He knew what was in there – the cheapest rat's piss wine from the local store while Daddy splashed out on expensive whiskey. That's why there was hardly ever any food in the house. But Daddy had beaten her, occasionally severely enough to end up in hospital – perhaps he was being too harsh on her. She had been a victim of their father too.

Maybe the drinking was the only way she could escape from the reality of living with their father. Merle had hated her as well for her weakness – couldn't say that he was particularly sad when she passed out and died in the fire (it's not like she'd ever made much difference to their lives – a bit like a familiar piece of furniture that was always there). He hadn't even bothered to come back for her funeral although he could have got leave easily. But it must have been some kind of protective instinct that had made him beat that bastard within an inch of his life for touching her that last time before he left and thought that he had taught the old bastard a lesson. To leave both of them alone. That's when he had gotten big and strong enough to fight back. Then he had just left, left Daryl in that hell with that _Monster_. But he didn't know, he didn't know. If he had finished the sick asshole off at the time, he could have saved Daryl. He would have gone to prison for murder too, gladly, if it meant that the twisted fuck hadn't done those sick things to his baby brother. His brother had toughened up over the years, was _tough_ but still he had an air of fragility about him sometimes although Walkers never phased him.

They didn't need these other people, it was enough just them, alone. And they'd been separated long enough. He'd have to work hard at making Daryl see that – get him alone and away from _them_.


	10. Beth and Daryl

**Chapter 10 Beth Part 1 Daryl saves Beth and she's grateful.**

**A little light romance between Daryl and Beth**

**(I've changed the time line from the series for my own purposes)**

It started after Daryl saved Maggie and Beth from Randall's crew – the little bastard denied that he was involved, that he wasn't going to join in when he'd come back. But he obviously was, just had been on watch or scouting for potential enemies. He'd been coming back to join in the party with the two captured women. Daryl had seen it in his eyes then – the excitement despite his tearful protests when he was interrogating him. Or rather torturing him and beating the shit out of him. His youth hadn't saved him from Daryl's vengeance neither even though he only looked 20 _at the most_. But his _eyes_were old and his silvered tongue didn't work_on Daryl._Because his keen eagle's eyes always saw through everybody's bullshit**.** Saw the truth behind his wide, apparently innocent eyes. Not that they would help him with Daryl who hadn't believed his lies – saw that he had done it many times before. Maybe he hadn't _been like that_before those people found him but he had become _like that_. Yeah, the Hunter thought, a good boy from a good family turned bad.

His choice.

Had allowed himself to be _turned_ in the free- for- all that was now the Post-Apocalyptic World. Some people lost themselves completely or found themselves being what they never could have dreamt of with more freedom. They revelled in their new-found power and forgot that they were human beings.

In any case, Daryl needed to vent his rage at what happened to his brother. He couldn't get at the Governor right now but he needed someone to _pay_. And this little rapist who looked like a harmless, well-brought up college boy was as good an excuse as any. But Daryl saw Maggie and pretty Beth, hands tied, Beth's blue eyes, a mere shade darker than his, filled with tears and terror as the men loomed over her and her sister. Leering at them like they were such pieces of meat and making dirty jokes. Laughing about all the things they were going to do them. Maggie was whispering to her, trying to comfort her but Daryl couldn't hear what she was saying. Two of the men – a greasy, skinny blonde haired man and a short, dark haired man were already unzipping their trousers when Daryl just arrived in the nick of time. Luckily something had made him come to this area of the woods – the spoor of a buck he had spotted. Then he'd heard the men laughing and seen the campfire with the two women lying on the ground. Before they could get started and take turns. The blonde man was saying 'Hey, I want the young one first, can you take the other one?' And the girls began to scream and struggle when Daryl's crossbow pierced his throat and it spurted a small fountain of blood. He dropped his trousers to instinctively reach for his neck with both hands but he couldn't stem the flow. Then he fell down to the ground with his trousers tangled around his ankles. _Way to go, asshole_! Daryl chuckled humourlessly to himself. And they hadn't known what had hit them like a bolt out of the blue. A crossbolt actually from Daryl's crossbow. Next to die before he could even react in shock was the dark-haired man who fell with a one through his eye. _He_wouldn't be coming back a Walker. Daryl was pleased with that one.

That just left three of the bastards who were made slow with all the beer they'd consumed. To build up their courage. Not that it would have mattered – Daryl was more than a match for all of them drunk or sober. The Hunter dispatched the nearest to him by slitting his throat, ear to ear with his hunting dagger before he even had time to react. But the remaining two had gathered enough wits about them by this time to try to tackle him but he was ready for them. He easily overpowered the first man who was lumbering clumsily towards him and wrestled him to the ground. Without looking back but sensing the other man coming up behind him, he kicked him away with his free foot, to buy himself some time. Then he stabbed the other in the eye – just like he'd done to Merle but Merle had been already dead and hadn't felt the pain (he hoped). But this bastard did – he screamed and had some kind of fit, making his whole body shake. Daryl just had time to stab him in the other eye through the brain – to make sure that he was _down_ before he rolled away from the attack of the last man who was trying to punch him to the ground. He got up quickly, evading the man's clumsy blows because his reactions were far quicker and he was sober and got in to rapid right hooks that undercut the man's jaw. Then he kicked his legs from under him. He fell down and Daryl stabbed him viciously in the heart 3 times, pinning him to the ground. The bastard screamed in agony but then suddenly went still. They would have to deal with the ones who might come back, make sure they _didn't_. After Daryl had untied them and checked them to see they were unhurt, Maggie insisted on carrying out this task herself with a savage ferocity. She was only sorry that they already dead, she wanted to kill them herself. _Painfully_.

This image of Maggie and her sister but in particular _her younger sister_, trussed up with her pretty blond hair messed up and the terror he'd seen in her eyes fuelled Daryl's rage again against the bound prisoner. With his friends leering at her, their eyes crawling greedily all over her body and this prisoner in front of them who had belonged to _them_. So he swung back his fist as far back as it would go and slammed it again and again into the prisoner who screamed and groaned with the blood streaming down his face. Into his eyes so that he could barely see. Couldn't see where the next blow was coming from, adding to his terror and he begged for mercy. But it did him no good. But Daryl _did_ change tack by brutally ripping off Herschell's bandage from the wound on Randall's leg. Then took out his hunter's knife and savagely stabbed the wound with it, 3 or 4 times, opening it up again when it had just started to scab over. And the blood gushed out and made a small puddle on the floor. Randall screamed in agony, wishing he had kept his mouth shut. 'Fuck you, fuck you, why are you doing this?' He sobbed. 'I'm innocent. I never touched no girls.'

'Yeah, right.' Daryl scoffed. 'Tell me about your group. How many?' And he took the point of the blade and just pressed it lightly but threateningly into Randall's wound again. Randall tried to buck and jerk his leg away but Daryl just pressed harder.

A warning.

'I said _how many_?' He snarled viciously, pushing him. And Randall began to stammer…'OK, there's about 20 of us... (Daryl pushed the blade in deeper, slowly) and he yelped and his voice began to rise in panic, ' No, I mean…about 30 of us.' He finally admitted and then trying to get Daryl's trust, 'There was this other time we found a father and his two teenage daughters, you know real young and real cute…' Incredibly, despite his pain and fear, Randall's eyes got a faraway look at this point and he unconsciously flicked his teeth between his lips. _Like a snake_, Daryl thought as his eyes narrowed in rage. 'And these guys…they ….um… (Daryl pressed the blade point deeper more viciously into his wound at this point and Randall screamed and tried to jerk his leg away again but this only made it worse) well.. well.. they did it in front of the father, made him w…watch, you know and they didn't even kill'em afterwards.' He stammered.

'But not _you_.' Daryl sneered. 'You just like to watch, right?' And he removed the knife-point from

Randall's wound. The boy, misunderstanding, nodded eagerly, hesitantly hopeful. 'You gotta believe me, I ain't like that.' He sobbed. 'I ain't like _that_.'

'Rape!' Daryl roared in rage. '_Raping teenage girls!_ Yeah, you are. Now I'm _really_ gonna fuck you up.'

'_Please_.' Randall groaned.

And Daryl did and no-one came to stop him, not even Rick. 'Everyone has a choice.' He told Randall coldly before he really got going.

Afterwards, he met Dale outside the storeroom which they were using to contain the prisoner and brushed past his questioning look, staring down at Daryl's dripping red hands, slick with Randall's blood and flesh. He'd been listening outside the door towards the end before Randall finally passed out.

'What did you _do_ to _him_? He's just a _kid_for God's sake.' He accused horrified. Staring at Daryl's bloody hands.

_God_, Daryl thought. Sometimes Dale just wanted to be _too_ _human_ to people who _weren't_ even _human_. Would he feel the same way if Randall had attacked his daughter? 'Maybe he used to be but ain't anymore.' He replied defensively. 'Ain't been one for a long time. And I didn't do nothing to him that he didn't deserve. Do you know what he and his buddies were going to do to Beth and Maggie? And there's 30 of them out there with more ammo. As well as Woodbury. We're in som' serious _shit_. I need to go and tell Rick.'

'Maybe that's true. But you're a decent man.' Dale had told him. 'This ain't you, torturing people.'

Daryl drew back, surprised. A lot of the people in the group dismissed Dale because he was older and couldn't fight so well and hung around Andrea. The traitor. But he could _see_ people, just like Daryl always could. Beyond the voice and the eyes and the words and their actions – really _see_ them, _see_what they didn't always want you to _see_. And he'd always sought Daryl out and talked to him in the early days – when Daryl had been almost a shunned outsider. Mainly because of Merle, guilt by association. Had talked to him like he _was_ a decent human being – one of _them_. Hadn't cared what the others thought – well Merle hadn't exactly helped them warm to him. The man's contribution to the group – his skills of perception and insight went unappreciated by most people except for Rick when he advised the leader. And Rick had _listened_to him. Daryl also remembered that Dale seemed to be the only other person in the group to see through Shane apart from him. Later, Daryl would be genuinely sorry when he had to put Dale out of his misery – the first time he'd taken over from Rick and done what he couldn't do. Helped him out.

'Sorry, brother.' He would say when he saw the permission in Dale's agony-filled eyes. Before he put him out of his misery. Because he knew that he would miss him afterwards.

Daryl realised that there was his Daddy and Merle in him who lived for and thrived on violence but he himself was different. He wasn't scared to use it when necessary but he didn't _revel_ in it. Merle had laughed at him for that – called him _Sweet Daryl_. Well - normally that was. But this little shit Randall was an exception. For what he had been going to do to Beth.

And Beth was so relieved and grateful when Daryl untied them and checked that they were unhurt that she hugged him. He'd flinched at first but then hugged her back cautiously – after all he could see that she was shaking and her eyes were filled with unshed tears. That she needed the comfort after the ordeal they'd been through. And Daryl didn't miss the sharp look that Maggie gave her younger sister before he let her go. She also thanked Daryl but knew better than to try to touch him and they made their way back to the prison.

Maggie and Beth retold the story to the others who looked at Daryl with respect. Herschell had shaken his hand and said that if he needed anything medical to just let him know. That he would always be grateful to him for saving his daughters. And Beth started looking at him differently, too with some other emotion shining in her eyes that he didn't recognise. For example, her blue eyes would light up whenever she saw him. And then it seemed like everywhere he turned she was there, at his elbow. That often when he came back from hunting she was waiting for him with a bowl of squirrel stew ready for him in her hands. Like she knew when he would come back. Although she never touched him again, it seemed like she had become his shadow. A part of him. Maybe the part that had died along with Merle. He knew that he would normally feel threatened by this but found himself actually quite liking it and even expecting to find her there waiting for him when he came back from hunting or when they chatted over feeding and putting Judith to bed. Even started looking forward to these moments with her. They'd always been polite to one another – said 'Hi' in the corridors but there'd been a distance between them – she was 20 years younger than him for God's sake. Why did a pretty 17 year-old girl want to hang out with an old man like him? Not that she had much choice of playmates. There was Carl of course, he thought sarcastically. Although Daryl knew he didn't look his age, more like early thirties than nearly 40 unlike his brother Merle who had looked at least 10 years older than his age. But then Merle had fought in wars and been in prison and hadn't been adverse to using drugs like crystal meth. Daryl on the other hand, had never felt the need to use drugs apart from the odd spliff or cigarette although he liked his liquor, especially his beer. When he could get it. And he'd always tried to look after his body – working out, keeping in shape.

The growing closeness between the two didn't escape the group's notice. Especially Carol who called Beth over when she was doing the laundry alone in the river. Away from the ears and eyes of the others.

'Hi Beth, can I speak to you for a moment?'

'Sure. What is it?'

'It's …um…about Daryl.'

'Uh…OK.' Beth said reluctantly, feeling a little embarrassed. Blushing a little.

'Now, I know that you two are getting close but I'm telling you to leave him alone.'

'Why?' Beth said guilelessly. 'We're just friends.'

'You don't have any …any other feelings for him?'

'Why? Just because you do?' Beth retorted.

Carol felt a sharp pain in her chest, where her heart was because the girl had hit the nail on the head. Because he didn't seem to feel the same way although God knows, she'd given him plenty of _hints_. Flirted with him numerous times but he just didn't seem to _get it_. And despite all the painful secrets they'd shared it seemed that it would have to be enough for her that they were just friends. But every time she wanted to spend time with him or catch up, Beth seemed to be there. The girl had even taken over his meals – making sure that he was eating enough. And Carol felt like she was intruding and backed off. But she missed her friend. And anyway, how could a dowdy woman approaching middle-age compete with a pretty, sassy 17 year-old with her whole life ahead of her?

'Look, Beth. I'm a lot older than you.'

'Yeah, you are.' The girl replied rudely.

'I mean…' Carol continued, ignoring her remark, 'He's not for you. Besides being too old, _he's not like other men_.'

'You mean you think he's gonna hurt me?' Beth asked fearfully. Everyone knew how he had nearly beaten and tortured Randall brutally to death. Because of what he and his people were going to do to her and Maggie.

'No, _not_ _that_.' (Carol didn't mention that she thought Beth might _hurt_him.)

'Yeah, well it's not like I have a lot of choice around here. And with the whole End of the World thing and the Governor who might come to wipe us out any day, I think I'll take my chances.' And with that she tossed her blonde mane and left Carol by the riverside.

Carol shook her head in frustration and thought _Silly girl, didn't she know that she was playing with fire? She dreaded the outcome, felt that it couldn't be good. She on the other hand understood Daryl. How to handle him. What he needed. Anyway, how would Herschell feel? What would Rick and others think about Daryl, nearly 40 and a 17 year old? Barely legal._Or didn't the old rules matter anymore?

But Beth stormed back to camp, her mind made up by Carol's interference. Been reminded of how short life was – especially now. She'd had enough of waiting, she would make her move tonight.

They'd just finished putting Judith to bed with Daryl feeding her and burping her and Beth singing the soft lullaby that never failed to settle her down to sleep. Daryl was feeling relaxed, like he always felt after spending time with the baby but tired. Beth's sweet singing voice also had a similar effect.

'Right. I'm going to my crib. I'm whacked. See you tomorrow.' He said standing up, after they'd laid her down, yawning and stretching.

'OK. Night.' She replied. 'Sleep well.'

'You too.' He nodded at her.

But 30 minutes later she was at his open cell door (he could never close the bolted door, it made him feel even more trapped) in a flimsy white peignoir that she'd found in one of the houses on a run. He could almost see _everything_, through the thin fabric. Including the swell of her hips, the line of her youthful curves – rounded yet slim and her high bust. Her flat belly although he tried not to look. She was just a kid for fuck's sake. Didn't she know how dangerous it was to come into a man's bedroom at night? Jus' lookin' for trouble.

'Shhh…' she said, her finger to her lip.

'What…what are you doing here?' He asked half angry, half sleepily. He'd just been dropping off and she'd never come to his cell at night before. And why was she dressed like that?

'She crept up to him although they didn't have to worry about waking up the others –typically, he'd put as much distance as he could between them and him when he was sleeping, when he was vulnerable. So they were in the wing of the prison most far away from the others. Before that, he taken to sleeping in the crow's nest because he couldn't bear to be shut up in a cell, in a cage. But he'd felt too exposed there – not enough privacy. He didn't much like being in the prison but had to agree with Rick that it was the safest place now with not only the Walkers but the Governor on their backs.

She crept nearer to him on tiptoe, her blonde hair was flowing down her shoulders like a thick shawl. It had got long.

'Go away,' he muttered and turned his back to her, facing the wall and tried to go back to sleep.

'I'm scared.' She whispered to his back, still not touching him.

That got his attention. 'Why?' He mumbled. Still not turning around.

'I had …I had a nightmare about _those_ _men_.' Her voice wavered but it was a lie but she knew that this would get a reaction out of him. 'That they were going to _hurt_me again.'

'No need to be scared.' He drawled, this time sounding slightly more awake. 'Ain't gonna let nothin' bad happen to you. You're safe with me.' And he reached round with one arm and dragged her onto the bed. And then he drew the blankets up and over them. And they just about fitted onto the narrow lowest prison bunk – neither of them were big people and everyone had lost weight since the outbreak. Stress, lack of food and more physical activity such as going on runs and fighting Walkers and other humans. Fighting other human beings who were even worse than the Biters. They after all, couldn't help what they _were_.

She lay there for a while, enjoying the comforting weight of his arm around her – making her feel safe. She'd got the man who hated to be touched (why was that? she wondered) to put his arm round her! But she wanted more than this – _a lot more_. She was in her prime and her hormones were raging through her body. And she wanted nothing more than to have his lean body under her or on top of her. His muscular legs wrapped around hers. In any case, she wanted him _inside_ of her. God, she was so sick of waiting. Was it her age? Is that why he hadn't made a real move yet? Or was he just too much of a gentleman? She giggled at that. No-one in their right mind would ever call rough, unpolished Daryl a _gentleman_.

Because despite what everyone in the camp thought, especially her father and Maggie, she wasn't some innocent little girl. She knew that her father would have a problem with Daryl – he wasn't exactly the boyfriend he had envisaged for her. Luckily he had seemed oblivious to their growing attraction and no one had dared to tell him. And while Maggie respected Daryl and was grateful to him for saving them, they weren't exactly close but she was letting her sister make her own choices. Besides, she was too occupied with her _own_ romance with Glenn. And anyway, both of them had had enough of their father's overprotective interference in their love-lives. Although he always meant well.

Despite the fact that she knew Daryl was _way too_old, she couldn't help her attraction to him. Couldn't forget how he had saved her and Maggie, how when she was with him she wasn't afraid of anything. Not of the Governor, not of Randall or the Walkers. How powerful and strong he was, even if he were a little rough and a redneck.

She whispered softly. 'Daryl? Are you awake?'

'No.' he replied and she laughed. Then he pulled her closer to him so that her head was cradled on his chest and she could hear his heartbeat slowing down as he finally fell asleep.

Oh, well she would have to leave it for tonight. He was obviously exhausted and she had to let him sleep.

She hoped that he would let it happen again.


	11. Out of my mind

**Out of my mind**

**This chapter contains PTSD, flashbacks, reference to domestic abuse, child sex abuse etc etc… Some insight into Carol and Ed's marriage, and Daryl and Merle's relationship. Also a supernatural element. **

**i.**

Daryl knew about Ed because he'd found her after the last beating. Well, everyone in the camp knew anyway – it was hard to hide such secrets now that people didn't live in houses behind white-picket fences. Even this didn't deter Ed. Making sure that Sophia was safe and away from him first, playing with Carl under Lori's supervision, she'd gone to the woods. To escape, to recoup. She'd seen Lori's shock at her latest black eye and heard her call out _Be careful – at least take a knife_ but everyone in the camp knew what her husband was like and she didn't say anything. But she knew that she would tell Rick. She'd run away, left her husband sleeping off his latest bender in their tent, during which he'd enjoyed giving her a good beating. For not having his favourite shirt dry in time. God knows where he got the booze from – he'd insisted on bringing the crates and the whiskey rather than bringing more food and water with them. But their booze supply had run out long ago. So, she'd gone to the woods to be alone with her dagger in case of any Walkers and bumped into Daryl, coming back from his hunt with a brace of squirrels on his back. God! She was sick of squirrel stew – she couldn't eat another bite! She'd lowered her gaze, praying he wouldn't notice her eye but of course he did. She'd tried to push past him but he had stopped her. Then, he'd reached out tentatively and touched her cheek but not where she was hurt, of course. The other one. So unusual for him to reach out and touch first. Usually he resisted when anyone tried to touch _him_. Seeing her black eye, his sky blue eyes had been filled full of rage – not at her but at the _animal_ who had hurt her. _He'd _grabbed her arm next and she'd flinched because there was another of Ed's bruises blooming there. He'd immediately withdrawn his hand and mumbled an apology thinking it was something he did and she desperately wanted to tell him it wasn't. But she said nothing because she didn't have the energy. She was so beaten down by not only her husband but this life of constant threat of death hanging over them with no safe refuge in sight.

His eyes had a questioning look. 'Did he…...again?' he'd asked, uncharacteristically gentle for him. She'd nodded and his fists had clenched. 'I'll kill the son of a bitch! Likes to hit women? Fuck'im! I'm gonna fuck 'im up! See how he likes it!' he roared in his rage. She'd placed a restraining hand on his chest – his touching her first seemed to give her permission and accordingly, he didn't flinch or back away from her hand like usual. 'Sh…you'll bring the Walkers here.'

'Me and Merle'll teach 'im a lesson he'll never forget.' Daryl promised her, this time more quietly but with no less vehemence. As a memory assaulted him of when Merle walked out of the door for good, Mama's bleeding cut lip and their father lying motionless in a pool of his own blood on the floor.

'You can't. Please don't. You'll only make it worse for me….No.'

He lowered his eyes reluctantly. 'Whatever yer say. But I ain't happy about it. If he does it again or touches Sophia, I might not be able to stop myself.'

'I'm OK. I'm used to it.' She'd said as calmly as she could, trying to pacify him.

After that, Ed, made bolder by his ever-increasing daily drinking had even slapped her _in public_ and split her lip bloody. Right in front of the other women when they were doing the laundry down by the river. Hr was an old-fashioned type who believed in women's work for women. Then Shane had seen the slap and heard him threaten Andrea and he'd given Ed the beating of his life by punching his face to a bloody pulp. Warned him against hitting Carol and Sophia and anyone else ever again. And Ed never had. Carol knew that Daryl would wish that it had been him when he heard but she hadn't let him. Besides, Shane had beaten her husband to an inch of his life but if it had been Daryl who had actually witnessed Ed hitting her instead he would have probably outright killed him and never looked back.

But a couple of weeks later, when Ed had more or less recovered from Shane's punishment and his bruises were yellowing, already half-cut at noon with a beer can in his hand had dug his own grave. Always the bully, he misinterpreted the sullen Hunter's silence for weakness and his growing friendship with his wife hadn't escaped him. 'Hey, you redneck piece of trash! Stay away from my wife.' He stupidly challenged him and grabbed Daryl's arm in passing. The Hunter merely looked down at the flabby white hand on arm and jerked his back, glaring at the other man in silence. Encouraged, Ed continued, 'Yeah, I told the ugly bitch to do the same if she don't wan' my fist in her face again. Cos' you's scum, just like yous brother.'

Daryl didn't respond to his bluster but his eyes narrowed with rage as he turned to confront the man who represented everything he hated about his father and men like him. Who had hurt Carol and Sophia. And without warning, Daryl viciously undercut Ed's jaw with his right fist and Ed staggered back, not even having time to react, he'd been drinking all morning after all and just grunted. Then the Dixon suckered him in his big gut and the larger man staggered backwards. Daryl didn't miss a beat and kicked him the face so that Carol's husband was finally on the ground, helpless. Ed screamed in pain and brought up his hands to his face, begging for mercy, having not even got in an attempted blow at the Hunter. But his pleading only seemed to enrage Daryl like it had Shane a couple of weeks before when he had beaten the man to a pulp. Then Daryl snarled, 'Thought you would have learned your lesson from Shane, _asshole_. Bastards like you fight like _pussies_.' And with that, he brought back his foot to give him a vicious kick, again and again and again, he couldn't stop. Ed could only roll instinctively to the side, trying to evade the kicks but it did him no good, his screams begging for mercy. There was a crack of a rib or two and by then, everyone nearby had stopped what they were doing after hearing the commotion and were standing around, cheering on Daryl. Making no move to stop it. Because most of them held a grudge against the man, his obnoxious behaviour, his selfishness and laziness had not endeared him to the group let alone for what he had done to his own family. And neither Carol nor Sophia was there to stop it. So, unmoved by Ed's pleas and his bleeding body, they cheered Daryl on.

But Daryl suddenly stopped himself because it seemed to him that he didn't see Ed on the ground but his father lying there, the time Merle had beaten him to an inch of his life. He no longer heard the crowd but Mama screaming at Merle to stop. But his brother wasn't there but Daryl _was_ and Daryl was no little ten-year old anymore with no strength in his arms and fists. He was the adult Daryl but impossibly he was also Merle. Merle as he was _then_. So, he took out his hunting knife from its sheath and ignoring the man's terrified screams, raised it and was going to cut Daddy, stab his father, rip him to shreds and the crowd were screaming at him to 'Do it! Do it!' _Not that he heard them._ And he was going to save Mama. But before he could, a bigger and heavier male body bowled him over and pinned him to the ground. Instinctively, he yelled 'Get off me! Get the fuck off me!' He struggled in his rising panic and tried to buck the man off him but the other didn't let release him but squeezed his right wrist painfully. 'Drop it.' Shane said calmly and authoritatively in the same tone Rick used.

ii.

And Daryl stubbornly ignored the pain but then Shane applied more pressure in a typical trained cop restraint move, 'Drop it.' He commanded again in the same calm voice and it felt like his wrist would snap so he finally let it go. He stopped struggling as he realised where he was and what he'd been about to do – he'd slipped back into the past again. With Mama and Daddy and Merle. Thought he had stopped doing _that_ – he'd been about to murder the son-of- a- bitch. _Again_. 'Let me go,' he hissed venomously at Shane, wished it had at least been Rick who had subdued him instead, he hated Shane. And at least Rick wouldn't have _enjoyed _it. 'Let me go,' he whispered, hating the pleading whine that was creeping into his voice but unable to stop it as the familiar panic took over. Like it always did whenever someone touched him and didn't back off and of course, Shane didn't. Laughed instead. 'You're out of control, Dixon. Even crazier than your damn brother.' And put him in a chokehold although Daryl's rage had dissipated and he was no longer violent. But when he heard the jingle of metal as Shane began to reach for his belt in one hand, he started to frantically struggle again. But his captor twisted his arm and pushed it up behind his back while increasing the pressure on his throat. So Daryl stopped fighting but began to hyperventilate as he felt like he couldn't breathe. Like he was suffocating. But Rick came forward then and squatted down on his haunches in front of Daryl, looking up to him. 'Now, we all understand you attacking Ed, you're Carol's friend after all and he threatened her but we gotta to have rules. You were going to kill him. Now we've got to cuff you.'

'No, no, NO!' Daryl screamed and shook his head as he gasped for air and tears came into his eyes. And a half-choked sob escaped his burning throat. He hated his weakness but he couldn't do anything to stop it. He heard Glen shout 'Leave him alone, Shane!' and T-Dog, 'You're hurting him!' and Andrea, 'Ed deserved everything he got!'. Amongst others' anxious twitters 'What's wrong with him?', 'Why's he so scared?'. The shame, the humiliation of breaking down in front of the group. Rick noticed the onlookers gawping, ' Go!' he ordered them as they reluctantly drifted off. 'Show's over and we've all got jobs to do. Some of you help Ed – carry him to the medical trailor. And someone run and find Carol and tell her what's happened.' Dimly, Daryl heard but couldn't see Ed groaning in pain. It seemed like no-one cared what happened to him - they were all focusing on _him, Daryl_. And he felt their pity and concern attacking him in waves and he was ashamed that they had seen him in this state. But then he heard a familiar, welcome voice yelling angrily and footsteps pounding closer.

'Get your fuckin' hands off 'im! Don't fuckin' touch 'im!' And Merle, coming back from the woods, furiously barged into Shane and knocked him away from Daryl who staggered away a few steps, rubbing his throat and wrist. As he tried to get his breath back.

'Look. He's out of control, he needs locking up. He nearly killed Ed just now.' Rick got his own the cuffs out from his belt and walked towards Daryl.

'So? Bastard probably deserved it.' Merle retorted callously. 'Anyway, you didn't cuff Shane for doin' exact same thing.'

And Daryl started and backed away from Rick, apparently terrified. 'You telling me that big bad Daryl is scared of a pair of cuffs?' Shane sneered derisively. 'Thought you were _tough_, man.'

'Shut up Shane. Can't you see you're making him worse?' Rick reprimanded his friend without looking at him. Was concentrating on stalking Daryl instead.

'NO!' Daryl yelled. 'Don't…don't put those fuckin' things on me.' He pleaded as he started to shudder and whimper. He turned and started to run but Shane caught him. Held the now unresisting, trembling Daryl easily now. He shushed him but Daryl hissed a vicious 'Fuck you' at him in reply but didn't bother to struggle anymore. He knew that it was useless.

'Come on, son.' Dale spoke gently to him. 'Ain't nobody here gonna hurt ya.' Daryl hadn't noticed that he was there or when he had arrived.

'Just put these on and everyone's happy. Just until you calm down, I promise.' Shane said, this time more kindly. Merle motioned Rick aside and they walk away some distance. 'I'm telling you, _don't_ put those cuffs on him. I'll handle him.'

'Wait a minute, Shane.' Rick called out and then turned back to Merle.

'Why? Why is he so terrified of a pair of cuffs? They won't hurt him.'

'I don't want to tell you here. It's kinda _personal_ if you get my drift, Officer Friendly. Just trust me. Daryl will do anything you want, he'll even apologise to that useless sack of shit, bring him flowers, breakfast in bed, anything you want. _I'll _make sure of that.'

'OK…' Rick agreed reluctantly. 'Take him but make sure that he stays out of trouble. I'll be over to check on him later.'

iii.

Rick made his way across the field to the tent, to where he'd seen Merle half drag, half carry his brother after the fight. After he had snarled them out of the way – like a wolf protecting an injured pack member. Or a wild animal defending a fallen cub. Of course where he lived was a little far away from the group – the Dixons didn't play well with others and they kept themselves to themselves most of the time. He had to check on Daryl – it couldn't be Shane because Daryl seemed to half tolerate Rick at least but he hated Shane with a passion. How could any of them have predicted that he would have reacted like that? But he'd been out of control they'd tried to restrain him. Although they hadn't gone through with it, in the end they'd agreed to allow Merle to deal with his hyperventilating and whimpering brother.

As Rick drew nearer to Merle's tent, he heard the murmurs in a strangely melodic but pleasant language he didn't understand but it sounded like a chant to him, the same 3 or 4 words being repeated over. There was also the smell of some smoking herbs, a clean, fresh, piney smell. Intrigued and finding it not a little creepy, he undid the zip without calling out a warning and was taken back by the scene that greeted him.

But Daryl was _calm _now, curled up in a foetal position with his knees bent up to his chest, lying with his head in his older brother's lap. Merle was absentmindedly stroking his hair while repeating his strange mantra over and over again. Daryl's eyes were open but glassy, unseeing while he was apparently staring at the ground. His mouth drooling a thin thread of spittle onto the tent floor. He didn't react to Rick, didn't seem to be there, in some kind of trance in fact. A plate of various, yet unidentifiable herbs was smoking gently, releasing a pleasant fragrant smell. Most of the smoke was escaping, curling up towards the hole in the tent's roof that Merle had presumably made. Because sleeping in closed tents during this savage Georgian summer, even at night, was still far too uncomfortable.

The older Dixon immediately stopped chanting when he saw Rick and nearly jumped out of his skin. He'd been concentrating so hard that his normally keen hunting ears had failed to detect the ex-cop's approach. And unfortunately, Daryl's head fell out of his lap and fell on the ground. Again, Daryl didn't react even when his head banged painfully on the floor of Merle's tent.

'What the fuck are you doing? Now look what you've done!' Merle yelled, incredibly embarrassed, at Rick. 'This here is private! Ain't you people done enough!' And it was true, Rick felt like he had walked in on his neighbours naked in bed together, had seen something so personal and intimate that he had no right to observe. Or some sacred ritual into some religion that he was not yet initiated in.

Rick ignored his angry outburst and urgently got straight to the point. 'What's wrong with him? Is he sick? And what weird language were you speaking just now?' The former Sheriff added with his eyebrow raised crouching in the entrance of the tent. 'A Satanic one, maybe?' He muttered under his breath because he wouldn't be surprised at anything with _Merle_.

Merle picked up Daryl's unresponsive head and placed it tenderly back in his lap and put one arm protectively around his brother, across his back. Before he glared aggressively at Rick. 'He's not _sick_, not how you ignorant aniyonega1 mean.

'What does _that_ mean?' Rick asked but didn't wait for Merle's translation. 'Well, then, what's wrong with him? Is it shock? Is he going to snap out of it? Shall I fetch Herschell?' He asked urgently.

'Don't bother. He wouldn't understand and there's nothing he can do. None of you dumb fucks can. You just had to keep on pushing him, didn't you? Especially that asshole Shane.' Merle snarled accusingly. 'Yeah,' he nodded, 'He was always just lookin' for an excuse to put his hands all over my sweet littl' brother.' He finished with a low down dirty laugh.

Refusing to rise to Merle's obscene jibe, knowing it was stemming from anger, Rick tried to reason calmly, 'He was out of control, he attacked Ed, damn near killed 'im. '

'Yeah, and killing that fat, ugly, wife-beating piece of crap is bad how exactly?' Ed's lucky it wasn't _me_.'

'How could we know that he would react like that to a pair of cuffs? We were only going to restrain him until he calmed down.'

'Guess you didn't know his fuckin' Daddy cuffed him to the bed.' Merle retorted with angry sarcasm as his mouth twitched down at the corners and his eyes filled with unquenched rage and hatred. For the man he could never make pay. And his fists clenched at his sides. Enjoying Rick's shocked expression. But then he relaxed, slumped forward. 'See, - sick fuck didn't_ just _use littl' Darlena as his whipping-boy.' With this revelation, he comfortingly smoothed back a stray lock from his brother's forehead that had fallen over one open and creepily staring, unseeing eye. And then pulled his younger brother's body closer to him. 'Yeah, poo' littl' Darlena got it worst.' He sighed. 'Why else do you _think _he's the way he is? Why he don't let no-one touch 'im, even _me_, hardly ever. Only way I get to is when he's _like_ _this_.

Rick was sickened but didn't pry. Again, he felt that he was privy to secrets that he just didn't want to know. Besides, he thought Daryl wasn't even blinking and he just wanted to get out of there but it was his duty to stay and check on his condition. And he did care about the younger Dixon – Daryl had proved his worth to the group. And he'd found that cop habits died hard and anyway the others were anxious about him. Apparently beating Ed to an inch of his worthless life in defence of his friend Carol hadn't damaged his popularity none. Strange how quickly the reclusive, aggressive but less so than before redneck with poor social skills and even poorer personal hygiene habits had become so liked in the camp. Although feeding scared and hungry people probably had something to do with it.

Liked unlike the older Dixon but you couldn't have one without the other and Merle clearly loved his brother.

Rick was surprised that Merle was talking in front of Daryl like this, like he wasn't there, and motioned towards the comatose man with a warning gesture.

'I don't think we should be talking in front of him like this. He can hear us.' But what he really meant was _I don't think he would appreciate you telling me what you just did_.

'No, he can't, he's already _gone_.' Merle drawled the last word exaggeratedly.

'What do you mean _gone_?'

Merle laughed mockingly, enjoying Rick's confusion. Hell, he'd be having so much fun if he wasn't worried about getting Daryl back. And he liked having one over the ex-cop who always acted like he knew _everything_. Knew what was best for _everyone _including _his brother_. 'He's runnin' around there in the forest, probably scoutin' deer.' And he pointed outside.

'Gone _where_?' Rick was really confused now, felt an icy chill run down his spine as he looked down at Daryl's body right in front of him. 'You been smokin' too much crystal, again, Merle? You Dixons are out of your minds.'

'Zactly. Daryl _is_ out of his mind. Gone where he always went when things got too fucked up at home. _Me _- _ I_ could never go anywhere – had to just stay and take it. For Daryl mostly. Baby Brother always was a lucky little bastard, had more of Momma in 'im. He tried to show me how to do it but I could never break free.'

Rick was about to disagree with this assessment that seemed to contradict what Merle had said earlier but decided to keep his mouth shut. He didn't understand what the hell the man was rambling on about and decided to ignore it.

'I've been trying to call him back for over an hour now but he doesn't want to come.' Merle frowned.

'Right.' Rick agreed, taking the hint and deciding he would leave them to it. But what would he tell the rest of the group? That Daryl was in shock? Comatose? In a hypnotic trance? Was outside his own body which was lying in his brother's arms and his soul or spirit or whatever was in the forest stalking deer? But Merle answered his question as Rick was getting up to leave, as if he'd read his mind. 'It's called _Astral Projection_, Officer Friendly. I'd tell you to look it up but things ain't exactly like they used to be, huh? Mama was half Cherokee and in her tribe there were quite a few Skin-Walkers. We can't do _that _but we can do other stuff. Why do you think he's so good at tracking and shit?'

Rick left, shaking his head, not knowing what to believe. But who's to say that it wasn't true in a world now where the dead came back to life? And he was surprised that such a determined racist, 'a white man' admitted to having Cherokee blood in him. Apparently spoke a Native American language. Seemed to be proud of it in fact. But then he'd kept it a secret until Rick had stumbled on it. These Dixon boys were full of surprises.

'Do whatever you have to do, just get him back.' Rick replied with quiet authority as he walked away shaking his head in disbelief and heard Merle resume his strange chanting behind him. 'Ed's going to be OK, by the way.' He added as an afterthought and heard Merle's scoffing bellows follow him.

He would tell the others to give Merle and his brother some space. And _headspace_. He didn't need any questions that he didn't have the answers to.

'Cos Dixon business was _their _business, no one else's.

1 Cherokee word for white people


	12. Daryl and WomenMerle being a bastard

Chapter 12 Daryl and Women/ Merle being a mean bastard

**Here's Merle being a mean bastard because I've shown him being caring and protective of Daryl but he wasn't always like that with him. Because Merle _is_ caring and protective but he's also callous and cruel and he's all of these things to Daryl. And Daryl, for his part, has mixed feelings towards his older brother – there's a lot of anger there. But there's no doubt that there is a lot of love there too, on both sides beneath it all. All of this makes the brothers' relationship so complex and this is what makes it so fun to write! I've also filled in some details of the lost years of Daryl's youth like what happened to him after his Daddy died and how he is with women.**

The nights they were drawing in and the weather was getting colder. Daryl shivered and pulled the thin woolen blanket over him and Beth. She rolled over, apparently in her sleep and put one leg across his and snuggled closer against his chest. But her eyes fluttered unseen by him. She'd never done anything like that before – they'd always slept together chastely like brother and sister forced to share a bed. Apart from his arm always being around her. And he felt himself stirring, down there, letting him know that he wasn't a sexless eunuch like Merle always called him. But she was just a little girl – didn't she know how dangerous it was to do what she kept on doing to him? Had she forgotten what Randall and his pals had nearly done to her? What could happen to little girls who played with grown men? Anyway, what would Rick say? What would Herschell do?

He should kick her out now before something bad happened but as if she had read his thoughts in her sleep, one slender arm snaked across his chest and he felt his nipples harden through his thin shirt. Shit – what was he going to do?

Did he even know what to do? With a woman, that was. Not that Merle hadn't forced him to watch enough hard-core porn with him when they were kid. To _educate _him._  
_

He pushed her leg off him, pulled his arm from around her and turned over, facing the wall with his back to her. Felt her stir uncomfortably but she didn't seem to wake up. Making sure that no part of his body was touching her, he tried to distract himself from the growing need. He would try to sleep but found himself pulled back into the past which often happened when he was between awake and dreaming. When he had seen Merle for the first time in ten years, he had just turned 20 and Merle was eight years older. He'd gone to pick him up from the airport after his tour of duty in Iraq and Daryl had been shocked at how much Merle had aged. His body was bulkier with muscle now and his head was shaved but his face was lined – he looked at least a decade older. His eyes were redder and deader and his mouth often twisted in a cruel sneer that hadn't been there before. Daddy's sneer. And Merle was looking more and more like Daddy and Daryl couldn't help the shudder that ripped through him when he saw him coming through the airport gate. Oblivious as usual, Merle had hugged his younger brother and clapped him on the shoulder, obviously pleased to see him.

After that, they'd see each other on and off for years and somehow, sometimes living together, sometimes not, especially when Merle was shacked up with one of his skanks or on a drugs and alcohol binge. And Daryl had somehow kept his secrets and never shown Merle his back. And Merle had never asked about Daddy. He only asked if the Petersons had treated him OK and when Daryl said that they had, then Merle had breathed a sigh of relief.

After his Daddy was gone, Daryl should have been put in foster-care but a neighbouring family offered to take him in. Old acquaintances of his Mama's – a middle-aged farmer and his wife who hadn't been able to have children. They were decent people and they'd treated him fairly and they'd never ever hit him. Instead, they would punish him by grounding him or taking away his pocket-money. But they weren't very openly affectionate people and anyway, they'd noticed his dislike of being touched. But everyone in their village knew what his father had been like and they didn't ask questions. So they'd only told him that he could confide in them if he needed to but Daryl had never wanted to. He'd only wanted to forget about his old man and everything about him. And only when he had bad dreams and woke up screaming, often crying out for Merle, his foster-father would come into his room and sit on the edge of his bed. Careful though not to touch him and would try to calm him down. Would sometimes give him a glass of warm milk and cookies. Talk to him in soothing tones, asked him what he was dreaming about. But Daryl would never tell him. And Mr Peterson probably thought he was still grieving over his father and having nightmares about his death and missing his brother but he didn't know the truth.

So life got better for Daryl after his father's death.

The Petersons had fed and clothed him with the fostering money they got from the government, even allowed him to decorate his own room. Occasionally, Mrs Peterson would even use her own money to buy him treats like a new shirt or shoes. Or for a school trip. Something his own parents had never done, Merle had done his best whenever he had any spare cash that he'd earned or stolen. And Daryl marvelled at the fact that sometimes people who weren't family could treat you more humanely than your own parents.

When he turned 18, they regretfully told him that he had to move out as they were no longer getting fostering money from the government and they couldn't keep him. But he could take his time until he found a place they weren't going to just kick him out onto the street. Besides, he wanted his independence, was impatient to start living like an adult. So he found a nice 2 bedroom flat for him and Merle when he came home that he could afford on the outskirts of a nearby town. It was cheap enough. He also saved money on food by hunting from time to time and he was working full-time as a car mechanic. He'd never gone back to the same school but attended a different one nearer the Petersons in another village. Had made a fresh start there, where thankfully, people had never heard of the Dixons. And his adoptive parents gave him a cheque of a 500 dollars that they'd saved up over the years – money that they hadn't used from his fostering money as a parting gift. To help set himself up, they said. He'd thanked them and promised that he would write to them and visit from time to time.

Now he wondered if they'd survived the Apocalypse or if they were out there, mindlessly stumbling around. Looking for warm-blooded, living people like him and Beth to sink their teeth into.  
Like his brother was before Daryl put him down. He felt tears threatening at this memory but savagely pushed them along with his rising grief back down into his chest. However, this memory led to others about his dead brother.

That first night back with Merle they'd gone to the local bars and got loaded up, of course. His brother had dragged him into more than one bar-fights with his big, obnoxious mouth and hitting on local Hell Angels' girlfriends or making racist comments, forcing Daryl to fight alongside him. When Daryl would have preferred a quiet, relaxing drink with them keeping themselves to themselves. So they'd come home battered and bruised, Merle dragging along two drunk women he'd just picked up. The women were giggling and tottering on their high-heels, their short dresses in danger of riding up over their asses. They made their way to Daryl's new flat.

The brunette went over to Daryl, stroked his cheek as he flinched back. 'Is this your littl' brother, Merle? He sure is cute.'

'Leave 'im, alone. He's just a kid. You two are with me.' And Merle grabbed her and dragged her back to him, giggling and planted a sloppy, drunk kiss on her lips and she responded passionately. But her companion, the heavily made-up blonde got jealous 'Hey, Merle! I'm over here!' she yelled at him.

Daryl was tired and went straight to his room while the others went to his brother's. He could hear their moans and giggles and tried to block them out. But part of him was jealous at the sounds of their obvious pleasure. He hadn't wanted this and he could never understand Merle's appeal to the opposite sex. True, he had a good body but he was such a bad-mouthed, obnoxious, mean bastard who treated them like shit, like toys that just existed for his own amusement.

He was woken up by a load noise as someone opened his bedroom door. With a crash. And he saw a tall, broad man's shape in the dark doorway. Same height, broad and muscular like his father. He panicked, crazily thinking it was his Daddy come to his room again but then remembered that he was dead and Merle was staying with him. And Merle reached behind him and pushed one of the women into his room, the brunette who was naked and giggling. 'Get in there and don't come out until you've fucked 'im. And fuck 'im good.' He commanded her, slurring his words. He'd carried on drinking the hard stuff when they got back. And to Daryl, 'Present for you, littl' bro – to celebrate our happy reunion.' And he laughed dirtily as he closed the door.

The girl walked slowly, sexily swishing her hips side to side to Daryl's bed. 'Name's Tracy,' she said to him. 'Like what ya see?'

'Look like I could give a fuck what ya name is?' Daryl growled at her.

'Hey, baby. You a bad-boy like your brother? You fuck as good as he does, baby?' She licked her lips lasciviously with the tip of her tongue slowly. Tempting him. And Daryl heard his brother's growls and the other woman's moans start up again and heard the other bed's springs in the other room squeak rhythmically.

Daryl closed his eyes. He'd wanted his brother back so badly, had been looking forward to it so long but now he was here he wished him gone. Had had some fucked-up idealised image of his brother in his head and had forgotten the bad stuff. Forgotten that with Merle always came trouble. Forgotten that he was still furious with him for leaving him alone with their father without even a backwards glance. And now he was back in his life he was just fucking it up for him as usual. Because Daryl didn't want strangers in is flat – it was meant to be for just him and Merle.

She reached out, first to stroke his cheek and then to touch him between his legs under the sheet but he drew back, as if burned and grabbed her hand. 'Stop.' He told her.

'Why, baby?' She asked. And he saw her pale, too-thin body and all the meth sores covering it. Her brown teeth and the stink of her breath. The track marks in the creases of her elbows. Probably not much older than him but she looked old. And riddled with disease. He hadn't looked too closely at the women when they were walking back from the bar.

How could Merle fuck this? He'd probably get a STD. Probably even fuckin' AIDS.

'I don't fuck no skanky meth whores.' He spat in her face and pushed her hand away. On the other side of the wall, the sounds intensified as Merle and the woman approached their climax.

'Who you calling a skank?' She screamed and enraged, she raised her hand to slap him and he automatically flinched and drew back. Her eyes widened in surprise and she lowered her hand. 'Poor baby, I ain't gonna hit you.' And she laughed bitchily. 'Merle said you were a freak.' And Daryl grabbed her by the throat and threw her down on the bed. Looming over her, he said 'Get out. And take the other skank with you.' Then he released her and she got up shakily and left the room without a word.

Then he heard Merle incredulously roar from the other room 'What! He wouldn't?' and the women's contemptuous giggles. And finally his brother's braying bellows. And he felt the familiar shame come over him whenever it came to anything to do about sex. And the next day, of course Merle teased him, called him a eunuch, 'You fucked anyone ever, little brother?'. And Daryl had hunched his back and looked down on the ground. Merle didn't know the truth. 'You ever slipped your cock into a slippery cunt? Ooh, it feels so good….when she's moaning, when she wants you inside her.' And he laughed. 'Or you the other way, boy? You a dirty homo fag? Come on, you can tell big bro Merle.' He added mockingly, coaxingly. But Daryl had said nothing as Merle guffawed, he was already regretting letting him stay in his flat.

Because a few days later, the money from his foster-parents had already been drunk or smoked up. He didn't want these women or Merle's drugs in his home, he didn't like the rubbish all over the floor –the empty beer cans, the take-away boxes and the cigarette butts. The dirty clothes strewn everywhere – Merle's and bras and panties. Daryl didn't like to see the dead cigarette ends in particular – they brought back bad memories. Just because his brother seemed determined to live like their parents had. In filth and squalor.

Daryl loved his brother but he hated him just as often as he loved him.


	13. Chapter 13: Out of my skin

Chapter 13 Out of my skin

**Here's a continuation, well actually a prequel of Chapter 11 _Out of my mind_ as requested. Unfortunately, Merle isn't around in this chapter but it explores Daryl's psychic abilities and what triggers them – mainly when he feels under threat. Set during Chapter 1, Merle has already left and Mama has just died. Contains child physical abuse, please don't read if it will trigger.**

**And by the way, the old man will appear again with a surprising revelation.**

'Come here, son.' His father called kindly to him. _Like a real Daddy_. 'Why ya shakin'? _Daddy _ain't gonna hurt ya.' But Daryl gingerly fingered the most recent bruise fading along his jawline and looked for signs of redness in his father's eyes – that he always got when he was drinking or smoking or shooting up shit. But Daryl couldn't see any. Tried to gauge his mood – was he happy or looking to vent his anger on someone? But he'd been much happier since Roxie, the 18-year-old waitress moved in. Ostensibly to cook and clean after Mama's death (not that his mother had ever done much housework) but she often stayed overnight in his father's room. And Daddy had never had that glazed and contented look on his face in the morning with _Mama_. _She _never had any bruises or black eyes neither.

Staring at the large figure of his father apprehensively, Daryl hoped that maybe it would really be OK this time. 'Cos Daddy hadn't hit him for several days - maybe things were going to be like before Merle upped and left, had only spoken to him in that quiet, gentle voice and called him 'son'. Had touched him without hurting - maybe he'd changed. But still, Daryl couldn't trust his father. And out of habit, he tried to guess how far he could get to the door before Daddy caught him. Probably only three steps because of course, his father was blocking the living room door, his muscular bulk filling up the door frame. And anyway, running away would only make him angrier. But Daryl still didn't want to go to him and he couldn't stop his body trembling like it always did whenever he was in his father's presence.

'Come here.' Now there was a stern note of impatience in his father's voice that ten-year-old Daryl dare not disobey. He reluctantly went over to him but his Daddy only took his arm. Daryl flinched at his touch, even though it was gentle but didn't dare pull his arm away. 'You miss Mama, son?'

Daryl hunched his shoulders together and silently looked down at the floor. Safer to say nothing.

'Speak up, son.' His father pressed gently.

What was the right answer?

'Yeah.' His son answered in a small voice.

'Me too.' Said his father sadly and ruffled his hair but Daryl cringed away from his hand. His Daddy laughed and did it again.

'Because it's your fault she's fuckin' dead!' His father suddenly screamed without warning as his face turned from a mask of resigned sadness to a scarlet one of pure rage. And he slapped Daryl hard so that he fell onto the floor. Daryl gasped at the sharp sting but didn't cry, he knew better than that and after all it was only a slap, not a punch. Knew he'd have a red mark to go with his black-eye, no longer truly black but fading blue now after his last 'punishment'. Instinctively he curled up in a ball on the floor, his hands protecting his head as his body tensed, waiting for the first furious kick.

But none came. In a way, the slap was a relief because Daryl had found nice, fake Daddy even worse than angry Daddy. At least now he knew what to expect and could deal with it. There was no pretence, no hope, no mixed feelings hovering between tremulous love and hate.

Only fear and hate.

But hating _himself _more.

Cos' the not knowing was the _worst_. When the next blow was comin' and where it was comin' _from_.

Like now, waiting for the kicks that were going to rain down on him but none came. Instead his Daddy's voice, commanding him coldly, 'Get up.' Already undoing his belt. Letting Daryl know what was coming.

And Daryl began to whimper, couldn't help it and this earned him another slap, even harder than the first but miraculously, this time he didn't fall. 'Dixons don't fuckin' cry! Shut the fuck up, you littl' nigger pussy bitch!'

In his mind, he began to call Merle. Knowing it was useless because his brother had left for God- knows- where, was far too far away. Had left Daryl with this monster who now looked like the monster he was on the _inside_ thanks to his older brother. Because his once handsome face was never right afterwards – one side of his mouth was always higher than the other because of permanent nerve damage. Even in his terror, Daryl thought of Two-Face in some old Batman movie and a felt savage thrill of triumph for him.

Daddy took off his belt tantalisingly slowly and dangled it in front of his youngest son's face. 'Take off your shirt.' He commanded him.

'N- n-no.' Daryl stammered. This earned him a punch with a closed fist this time. A new black eye to go with the fading one he already had.

'Ya saying _no _to me ya littl' fuck?' His father roared at him.

_Merle_. Daryl screamed in his mind. All he wanted was Merle even if he laughed at him for being a pussy. For not being able to protect himself from Daddy.

Probably would only laugh at him for whimpering and being a sissy.

For not taking his punishment _like a Dixon _like _he_ always did.

_But maybe he wouldn't._

'I made you, you worthless piece of shit and I _own _you. I can do _anything_ I like with you. Cos' nobody round here gives a fuck about ya. _You _ain't even the dogshit they scrape off their shoes.' His father leered at him and when he laughed, Daryl felt a knife twist in his heart because it was Merle's laugh. 'And don't you forget that, boy!' His father roared. And roughly grabbed Daryl while he cringed and whimpered and tore his new shirt off him and threw it into the corner. 'Wouldn't want to rip that nice shirt Roxie bought for you, now would we?' He sneered sarcastically.

'Turn round and face the fuckin' wall.' He ordered and he pushed Daryl roughly against it.

_Merle, please. You said you'd never let him hurt me. But he does! He really does!_

The first crack and his back exploded into stinging fire. He screamed, he couldn't help it.

'This is for buying the rat's piss and smokes that killed her!' Felt the first rivulets of blood trickle down his back.

Crack.

'This for being a filthy littl' murderer!'

Pain, unbelievably, even worse this time. He arched his back in agony and screamed. More blood now.

_Merle _he called again, trying to reach his brother's mind. Cos'_ Merle_ would _never _hurt him_ like__ this_. Would never let their Daddy hurt him either if he was here.

But he was _gone_. Left Daryl alone to face the full force of their father's rage.

'Should'a been ya that died, ya worthless piece of shit.' His father snarled at him.

Crack.

Scream.

He couldn't take it anymore. Felt like his whole back was burning agony. 'Merle,' he whimpered.

His father suddenly stopped. 'You want your brother, do you? _Do you_?' Because Daryl hadn't noticed that he'd spoken aloud. And he furiously turned his son round to face him as he cringed away. But at least he'd stopped _whipping_ him. 'He ain't gonna save _you_. Cos' he fuckin' _hates _you.' His father sneered. 'Yeah.' He nodded, 'He told me he left because he was sick of your whingin' and whinin'. Always having to save ya worthless hide.'

And despite his pain and terror, Daryl shook his head as miraculously, his own outrage and hatred took over as he screamed back, 'That ain't true! He left because ya an evil, old fuck!'

Merle's words. Merle had called their father this enough times.

'The _fuck _you say to me?' His father screamed, enraged. Couldn't believe that little cowering, whimpering Daryl had spoken back to him like that. Sounded something like Merle would say. Probably _was_. Then he slapped Daryl so hard his head snapped back and hit the wall. For a moment, everything went black and he saw stars but then he dizzily, reluctantly came to as the back of his head began to throb.

_No, he wasn't even lucky enough to pass out._

_Of fuckin' course. Dixons never had no luck. Dixons was cursed._

And Daryl immediately regretted his words, now his father was really going to punish him, probably scar him for life. He started to tremble and whimper. 'Turn around!' his father yelled again and pushed him roughly to the wall. As Daryl flinched. But he wasn't going to beg. Not _that_ _bastard_.

'Now I'm really gonna whip the livin' shit outta ya!' And his father did.

Crack…

Scream…

_Merle, he says you hate me_

Crack…

Scream…

_That you left because of me_

Crack….

Scream…

_Says I killed Mama but I didn't, I didn't!_

Crack….

Scream…

_Why did you leave me?_

Crack…

Scream…

_He did it to you, too. And you still left me with him?_

Crack…

Sob…

'You fuckin' cry, you littl' bitch and it's gonna be ten times worse!' And his father's yell was the last thing he heard clearly before he was _gone_.

But he felt the rivulets of blood turned into slow rivers flowing down his back. Then, he knew that he'd be scarred, would have his father's marks on him forever. No matter how far away from him he went or what he did. Would always hear those words 'I_ own _you' when he saw them, when he ran his own fingers over them.

But he felt himself leaving as he slumped forward against the wall. _Should have tried to leave earlier_. _Why did he stay and take it for so long?_

_Because he had killed Mama. It was all his fault. He'd bought the wine and Virginia Slims._

_Deserved everything. _The_ pain. The hatred. _

_Deserved to die._

_'Cos he was nothing. A no-one. Would never be no-one._

_Would always be nothing._

Yet, the pain began to recede and he felt himself rise. Felt light, like air – could move but was floating. To the ceiling.

Saw himself looking down on his body, slumped against the wall as if unconscious while his father whipped him bloody, bloodier. Couldn't even see the skin on his back – it was slick with blood. Could hear his father still screaming at him vaguely but blocked out the words so he couldn't hear them. Like turning down the volume control on the T.V.

_Didn't want to. Would only be screaming hate anyways_.

_Didn't his father notice he wasn't there? That he didn't feel the crack of the belt anymore?_

_Probably thought he'd passed out, so why didn't he stop or check on him?_

_What if he whipped him to death? What if he had nothing to come back to?_

_What if he got stuck? And he trembled with icy fear._

_Didn't matter. He just had to get out of there. _

ii.

Daryl floated up to the ceiling where he watched himself and his father for a moment before he went out of the door. Went outside along the path, towards the forest. That place where he always felt _safe_.

Trawled the paths, heard the birds singing and the rustling of animals in the undergrowth.

Incredibly it was a nice day, blue sky, sun shinin', the world goin' on like none of that shit had ever happened to him.

Daddy was right, he was _nothing._

But maybe he could forget it, at least for a little while.

Cos' here there was no pain, no hatred, no fear and most important of all, _no fuckin' Daddy_.

He went deeper into the forest where the trees were older, bigger and their wider branches shut out the sun. He liked the cool darkness, felt like he could hide, it felt safe here.

Made his way for how long? 2 hours? How fast was he going, anyway? And time was meaningless here. Daryl didn't know, didn't care.

Passed village after village when the trees opened out, saw people working, chatting, eating, kids like him playing but they didn't see him. It was fun watching them without them knowing it.

He felt like God must feel.

Until he came to a village he didn't recognise. He'd never been this far out before.

Passed an elderly Native American limping on the path leaning on a stick coming from a cottage who looked up as Daryl passed over him. He was wearing a traditional ribbon shirt and two long white plaits framed his lined face. Just a quick glance but looking directly into Daryl's eyes and the boy knew that he had seen him. Blue clashing with blue. But his expression held only mild curiosity, not shock or even surprise. But Daryl quickly broke eye contact and fled, even though there was no malice in those eyes because nobody had ever _seen _him before.

He was afraid of the old man.

But more afraid of his father. And he wondered if Daddy had finished with him by now. Dare he go back?

But then he felt that familiar pull, like he had strings attached to the back of his arms, his back, his legs and someone was softly reeling them – _him_, in.

Like he was someone's _fuckin' puppet_.

It was time to go, it should be safe. Couldn't come back unless it was. And he let himself be pulled back flying over the villages he'd passed, looking down on the people. Because coming back was always quicker. He had already reached the depths of the forest where the trees were oldest. Saw the herds of deer who failed to sense his presence, the bucks tossing their antlers. The squirrels too, scampering up and down the trunks and branches of trees. But he wasn't interested in them now.

Then when he finally came to the woods near his own house, he swooped through his own door.

Dreading what he would find. Dreading the pain he would soon feel but unable to stop it.

It was time.

And he was safe.

Because he saw with relief that Daddy was gone and his body was still slumped against the wall, his forehead pressing against it. Although now there were blood marks on the wall. _His blood_. And bloodstains on the floor. Daddy had just left him there, bleeding. And he was going to be scarred for life, he just _knew_ it.

Like Merle.

And Daryl really didn't want to go back but he could only stay outside for so long. Took a deep breath and took the plunge.

Felt that familiar uncomfortable disorientation – like there were two of him fighting for dominance before one won before he came to. First thing to hit him was the pain of course, shocking although he was prepared for it. The stinging, fiery pain all over his back although thankfully muted now accompanied by his head throbbing dully. He let out a low sob because he could because his father wasn't around to hear and punish him again for it.

Felt his blood thick and sticky on his back, drying. Painfully, he tried to stand up but this only turned the pain on his back into fiery agony as he felt the cracks in his skin split and start bleeding again. Felt the blood trickle down his back, staining the back of his trousers probably.

What the hell did he look like? With his battered face too.

What if it didn't stop? What if he bled to death?

'Fuck.' he sobbed and fighting the pain, grabbed his shirt where his father had flung it in the corner and staggered out of the room, gritting his teeth. He couldn't stay here. What if Daddy came back and killed him for leaving blood stains everywhere on the wall, on the floor? For not cleaning up the mess?

Just another excuse to punish him again.

_Any_ excuse.

So he staggered out of the empty house, not even bothering to shut the door. They lived in a village where everyone knew everyone else and 'sides, the Dixons didn't have nothin' worth robbin'.

And he didn't have a key anyway.

But then he forgot – he needed his hunting knife and his crossbow if he was going to eat.

If he was going to _survive _out there.

So, painfully and far too slowly, he went back to retrieve them. His heart thudding and jumping at every noise that might be his Daddy coming back. And every step caused agony from his lacerated back but he gritted his teeth, tried to push back the pain as tears and sweat streamed into his eyes.

_'Cos he was Dixon. And Dixons didn't cry_.

He didn't stop to look in the mirror or wash the blood off because he sensed that hanging round was dangerous. Daddy could come back any minute. Besides he could bathe in the river.

'Fuck you.' He snarled but didn't know who he was talking to. His father or himself?

Or Merle?

Maybe to _all of them_.

He finally made it out of the house – would have to try and find somewhere to hide where Daddy couldn't find him. Lay low, recover. He looked around – didn't see anyone. Last thing he wanted was to meet one of the neighbours and answer their nosy questions. With his punishment and his shame on show for everybody to see. Although they would probably clean him up, put bandages on him but he didn't want that. Didn't want to see their looks of pity while still _they did nothing_. Even though they all knew about his father. Not even the police. Not when child and wife-beating was pretty much the norm in these parts – the staple of many competitive and boastful bar-room conversations.

This weren't Atlanta after all, just some backwater hick hill village out in the sticks.

Luckily, he managed to drag himself into the woods without meeting anyone on the way. Had a feeling it was dinner time and that people were at home cooking or eating. But the last thing he wanted to do was eat although his stomach growled hungrily.

Felt feverish, in fact.

Found a cool glade, hidden by trees and almost fell down. Luckily onto his stomach. Hopefully, no one would find him here – they couldn't see him from the path and he was hidden by the tree-trunks.

His vision was greying, beginning first with expanding dark wings at its edges as he felt the blood trickling gently down his back. But strangely, Daryl felt no fear. Merely hugged his crossbow to him like a teddy bear (not that he'd ever had one of _those_), feeling its reassuring heavy metal beneath him.

And it's strength. It would feed and protect him.

Would never let him down.

But he was so damn_ tired_.

_Merle_, _Merle! I'm here in our favourite place!_ He called out to his brother hoping he would hear and come and find him.

_Somehow. _

And sensed a faint glimmer of response - but it didn't _feel _like Merle. But before he could become alarmed, he began to fall. Like teetering on the edge of a steep cliff.

And the other hand holding the scrunched up shirt slowly relaxed its grip as the dark wings slowly spread, finally meeting in the middle to fully obscure his sight. And he passed over into not just darkness but _blackness_.

Falling but instead of into the clashing sea, into a dark, endless abyss.

Into a void of nothingness where nothing, not even dreams, awaited him.


	14. Chapter 14: Earl

Chapter 14 _Earl_

Hi – you've probably all guessed who the old man is but anyway, here goes. Some love and comfort for traumatised Daryl and maybe one positive influence in his early life that made him different from his brother.

i.

He woke up to semi- darkness, his throat burning parched. Felt fever chills running hot and cold through his trembling body. And the shapes of branches looming high above his head disorientated him at first as he struggled to remember why he was outside. Recall where he was. Did he even want to remember? Tried to guess how long he had been out but had no idea. There were no birds twittering yet but somewhere an owl hooted and some unseen nocturnal animals were rustling in the undergrowth. But he felt no fear – the forest had always been kind to him, its inhabitants had never hurt him and he was used to their noises. Besides, he felt the crossbow beneath his arm – its comforting hardness and solid weight, his brother's last birthday gift before he left. And when Daryl hugged it to him, he felt safer. Like somehow it brought Merle closer to him. And at the same time, this action caused tearing, stinging pains in his back that made him cry out and reminded him why he was sleeping in the forest.

_Daddy_.

Cos' he'd punished him even more brutally than usual and he'd run away. First, away from his body and then finally out of the house. And he must have been out for at least one day – maybe even two. And he needed water even more than food, he realised as his stomach grumbled and cramped with hunger pangs. But he was sick, he was feverish. However, before he could try to get up, he sensed rather than heard a figure coming towards him out of the darkness.

'Merle?' He mumbled deliriously, hoping that he had heard him after all and had come back from wherever he was. Because the man was tall and broad like his brother. But also like his _father_ but something told him that he needn't be afraid because Daddy couldn't have found him. _Not here_. Didn't know about their favourite place on the edge of the meadow because it belonged to him and his brother. Where the white flowers with the golden hearts bloomed every early summer.

The woods near the meadow, the place they went to be _safe_.

'Not Merle, son.' The man said and he sounded _old_. Older than Daddy even. 'Who's Merle? Your friend? Or maybe your brother?' And Daryl heard him crouch down on his knees in front of him, as he cringed back. The man was surprisingly nimble for his age. But then Daryl saw two of him, wavering in and out before his eyes. As the sweat dripped into his eyes and fever chills racked his body.

Daryl didn't answer, knew better than to talk to strangers. Hadn't his father and brother always told him how dangerous people could be? The bad things some of them liked to do, especially to little boys? And he turned his head away.

'Are you OK, son? I heard you calling for this _Merle _yesterday. Sounded like you were in trouble so I came looking for you.'

Daryl started to tremble. Shook his head in disbelief. Was he hearing things? Nobody knew about him and Merle's secret. Or had he spoken aloud? And how could he get out of this? And he was starting to make out more details as it grew lights and the birds began to greet the day. The man had long hair braided in two silver plaits. And he was Native American – '_a damn layabout redskin injun' _as his father liked to call them. Then he recognised him from when he'd been _gone_ – it was the same old man he had seen and who had somehow _seen _him.

'Why are you sleeping outside, boy, and not at home in bed?' He asked with concern.

Daryl looked down at the ground swaying before him. 'Jus' went campin', got lost.' He lied.

'Now, I don't believe _that_.' The man replied mildly. 'You're sick, ain't ya? And what happened to your face? Were ya in a fight? 'Cos it looks like ya got the worst of it.' Then he added confidentially in a lower tone, 'I know ya ran away from home sonny, didn't ya? Ya scared of someone there? _Maybe of _the person who did that to ya face?' Still Daryl didn't answer, didn't dare tell the truth, just trembled. Didn't dare to say why he'd been punished – because he was a murderer. How could he say that he'd killed his own mother? That he didn't deserve anyone's pity or kindness?

'Come here, _baby boy_. _Earl_ ain't gonna hurt ya_._' The man said tenderly before he bent down to gather Daryl gently up in his arms, surprisingly wiry and strong for a man of his age. And Daryl cried out in pain and flailed weakly because being lifted up and the jolting made his back hurt savagely again. And not least because he remembered the last adult who had said they weren't going to hurt him and what they'd done. But at the same time, he also recalled that Mama used to call him and Merle _baby boy _when he was small and before she stopped loving them. Sh...Sh...'It'll be over in a minute.' The man promised as Daryl lost consciousness.

When he came to, again with no idea of how much time had passed, they were in the cottage - the one he'd seen last time he'd been _gone_. The old man's home. But he couldn't see him and anyway, he must have passed out again because he woke up on his stomach with a blanket covering the lower half of his body but didn't feel any pain from his back. Or his head and he was still wearing his trousers. In panic, he reached behind him with his hands and felt something soft and scratchy and pushed it off his back. It fell to the floor. Hadn't even felt it there. Turned out to be some kind of bandage of plants that smelled herbal. Daryl worried that the old man had tried to poison him but then remembered Mama used to use these from time to time as medicine. Especially after an 'argument' with Daddy. He ran his fingers tentatively over his back – still no pain but he could feel the raised, bumpy scar tissue and knew that his father had marked him for life, just as he had feared. Wanting so badly to see how bad it looked in the mirror, he wondered how had he healed so quickly? Or had he been out longer than he thought? Then he looked around in panic for his weapons – his crossbow and hunting knife. With relief he saw that they'd been put away – across to him. Even Roxie's T-shirt, apparently washed again and dried was there, neatly folded up on the dresser. At least he'd be able to protect himself against the man if he tried to hurt him, he thought as he grabbed the knife and put into his pocket. Knew that Merle would be proud of him for _that_.

He'd just managed to do this in time when the door banged open and his kidnapper walked in. Daryl put his hand in his left pocket and felt the reassuring handle of his dagger. _Just in case_, he thought. 'You awake, son? How ya feelin'?'

'Better, thanks, Sir.' Daryl mumbled.

'You took the poultice off?' Daryl flinched although the man didn't sound angry, just surprised. 'Well, I guess it's done its job – your back's healed but couldn't do nothin' about the scars. They're permanent, sorry, can't do nothin' about 'em.'

'That's OK. Thanks, Sir.'

'You don't have to call me Sir. Earl will do.' The old man said. 'Ya wanna tell me what cruel person nearly whipped ya half to death?

'No,_ Sir_!' Daryl replied sharply, shaking his head and then looked down shamefacedly at the bed. Didn't want to talk about Daddy but worrying that he had sounded ungrateful to the man who had saved him, he added, 'I mean, no, Earl -if ya don't mind.'

That's OK, son. You'll tell me when you're ready. Or not. Don't matter. But do you wanna tell me your name?' He said comfortably. 'And would you like some chicken soup?'

'Yes, please. My name's.. (_Darlena_)...Daryl.' And the man turned round to pour out a bowl from a pot kept warm. on the old-fashioned stove. While he was doing this, Daryl contemplated grabbing his crossbow and shirt if he could and running out of the front door. Seemed to be a one room cottage with another small door probably leading to a small outhouse. Nevertheless, it was clean and tidy and the old man was obviously house proud. But he didn't have nowhere else to go – he couldn't go _home_. But Earl had turned round with the steaming bowl of soup before he could even put his feet on the floor and was coming over to him.

And he was _starving _and his stomach cramped painfully as Earl walked slowly towards his bed and handed it to him with a wooden spoon. Daryl took it gratefully with both hands, mumbling his thanks as his stomach grumbled at the smell rising from the steam that was so good. But the man reached up, only to feel his forehead but Daryl flinched back so hard against the wall that he nearly spilled the bowl over the bed. Nearly hit his head on it too. Before he awkwardly righted it on his lap. 'Sorry,' he mumbled.

'Nervous Nelly ain't ya? Always flinchin' and twitchin.' The man laughed, though not unkindly. 'Guess I should have warned ya, son. Can I check your fever now?'

And Daryl reluctantly nodded and began to eat hungrily. Earl put his hand to his forehead and said with relief, 'Your fever's gone down.'

ii.

'My son drank himself to death and my daughter married a bad white man and went to live in another village. Last I heard he drinks and beats her. Some life, huh? And now I'm all alone.

'I'm sorry, Sir – I mean Earl.' Daryl replied politely.

'She won't have anything to do with me because I didn't like her new husband. Could see straightaway that he was a bad'un and we lost contact – look at this place, I can't even afford a phone. Then they moved and I don't where they went. Ain't seen her in 20 years.'

Daryl looked over at him but said nothing. Felt like there was nothing he _could_ say.

'But at least I got you, Daryl. Even though you ain't mine. But you don't wanna leave me, do you son? Do you wanna go home?'

Daryl shook his head vigorously. Cos' he didn't never wanna go back home, not to _Daddy_. And Earl started cleaning Daryl's crossbow with oil and a rag. 'This is how you look after it, son. Wanna come over and see?' And Daryl wanted to go over but didn't because although it had already been three days, he still didn't quite trust the man yet. Sensing his reluctance, Earl said, 'That's OK. You just stay there where you feel comfortable. You can watch what I do. Maybe we can take it with us and go hunting tomorrow? Shoot us some deer, eat venison for dinner. Would ya like that?'

And Daryl's face lit up and a slow grin spread across his face. There was nothing that he liked more than tracking and stalking in the open air, in the forest. Reminded him of the good times and where he felt _free_. And Earl felt glad that he'd found something to make such a sad, uncared for boy happy. Knew what kind of home he came from even though Daryl refused to speak about it. Knew that he had taken back the knife but didn't say anything about it. If the kid needed to knife to make him feel safe, so be it. And Daryl gave _him _something too, helped with the loneliness, made him forget that he should be playing with his grandchildren now. Gave him a purpose to get up for in the mornings. And nobody seemed to be missing the boy, seemed like whoever had done that to his back (he guessed his father) didn't care where he was. He hadn't seen any missing notices for a lost child on the local TV or on the radio. What about the boy's mother? Didn't she care where he was or what he was doing? Probably hadn't even noticed that he'd even been gone. Earl knew that he should have reported the boy to the police but hadn't had the heart to. Also he wanted to keep him for his own selfish reasons.

He would just have to work on getting him to trust him. And he secretly hoped that no-one would claim him.

iii.

'Come on, son. Take the bow and aim for the bull's eye.' But Daryl shook his head.

'Can't. Can't do nothin'.' He muttered as he hunched his shoulders and looked down at the ground.

'Come on. Take it. Ya can do it.' Earl coaxed. 'Ya a smart boy.'

'I'll try.' And he took it hesitantly and aimed at the target nailed to the tree. He drew back the string in his bow and focused on the red dot in the middle. Then let the arrow fly. But it bounced off the outer circle and fell to the floor. And Daryl cowered, as if expecting a blow but Earl ignored this. He was used to Daryl's flinches and cringes by now. 'Cos some monster had taught him to react like that using blows and pain. 'Not bad,' (although it was) 'You just need to draw it back like this. At shoulder level.' He explained patiently. 'You had your hand up too high.' And he showed the boy, repositioning his hand and fingers who then let it fly and this time the arrow hit the circle nearest to the bull's eye. 'Well done, son.' Earl praised. 'See – you're a natural. Jus' need more practice, is all. Soon you'll be as good at archery as you are with that crossbow.' And Daryl beamed.

'And this is how we skin a rabbit…we can use the fur for hats and for lining boots in winter if we go roaming the mountains.'

'This is how we track the spoor of the buck. Not just his prints. See these markings on the tree where the bark has come off? This was where he was rubbing his antlers – called a deer-rub. Kind of like how we scratch an itch. Tells us that he's male. The size of the tree tells us he's _big_.'

'When we go huntin', we can use most parts of the animal we kill. The hide for leather, the bones for tools and knives. Kinda shows respect that we don't waste the life that it gave up for us.'

And Daryl watched, drinking it all, learning how to survive in the unimaginable future that lay in wait for him.

But the most important skills the old Cherokee taught him were how to manage his _gift_. 'I saw you, son.' The man said, breaching the subject, 'When you were _walkin'_. Ya already knew this place was here, didn't ya? Ya recognised me, too, right? Without ever being here before. That's how I found ya and brought ya back with me by _walkin' _'cos ya were unconscious, it was easy.

'Yessir. I never met anyone who knew I was there.'

And so he showed him how to come back when he wanted to, not when he felt the pull. How to direct himself to go where he wanted to go when they went _walking_ together through the use of meditation first. And burning strange herbs that smoked with not an unpleasant smell.

'I heard you calling your brother. I had to _see_ ya first before I can hear ya. Does ya brother hear you?'

'I'm…I'm not sure. But he always came a-runnin' if he was close enough. It don't work if he's too far away.' _Like now_, he thought.

'It's unusual to see it outside my tribe or ya got Cherokee or Injun blood in ya son?'

'Don't think so.'

'Can ya brother walk too?'

'Not even when I showed 'im.'

'So, ya were in trouble when you were calling your brother?'

Daryl shrugged. 'Cos he was whippin'me.' He said coldly, matter-of-factly.'

'Why would someone wanna whip a sweet boy like ya? Can't imagine ya doin' anythin' _that bad_.'

'Cos_ I'm_ _bad_. For what I did to my Mama.'

'It can't have been _that bad_. What did you do to your mother?'

'Killed her.' And Daryl's chest began to hitch in and out. As he started to tremble. The tears threatening to spill, despite his father's lessons.

'And how were you supposed to have done that, son?' Earl asked very carefully, reaching up to brush back the hair on Daryl's nape. It was growing long there and this time Daryl didn't flinch.

'I gave her the smokes and the wine that killed her. She asked me to get them after Merle left.' Daryl's voice grew quieter and shakier until he was almost whispering. 'See – she was drinkin' and she left her cigarette burnin' and she died in the fire.'

'Oh son, I'm very sorry to hear that. But it don't mean ya killed her. It was just an accident, was all.'

'Daddy said that's why she died. Cos' of the smokes and wine I gave her.'

'Is that why he says he _punished_ you?'

Daryl looked down at the ground in shame and nodded. He was shaking and the tears threatening to fall but he held them back. _Cos Dixons didn't cry_.

But he weren't Dixon no more. Didn't want to be. His Dixon Daddy had scarred him for life and his Dixon brother had left him behind with him without a backward glance.

'But it ain't your fault, son. Ain't none of it down to you.' The old Cherokee was still speaking calmly.

'He said that Merle left because of me, 'cos he hates me. 'Cos _I'm bad_.'

'You ain't bad, son. Just need someone to love you, is'all. Well, seems like if your Daddy whipped him as well, he felt he had no choice.'

'He did. Merle always protected me… from our Daddy and he nearly killed 'im too before he left for hittin' Mama.'

'Well, there you go, son, if he protected you it was because he loved you. And if he left, he must have felt that he had no choice. Thought he'd killed your father, for instance. He couldn't stay after that and I'm sure he didn't want to leave you. What was your Daddy's name, son?'

But before Daryl could answer, the Cherokee's eyes suddenly rolled back into his eyes –showing the whites and his body convulsed. Then before the boy could react, the old man slumped back into his armchair. 'No…No…No!' Daryl screamed and rushed to check his pulse on his wrist and in the artery in his neck (he had seen this on TV) and couldn't hear anything. Looked for signs of his chest falling and rising but it was still. But there were none.

He was dead.

This time Daryl gave in to the tears, didn't give a shit that Merle would tease him, call him 'Littl' Darlena or 'Sissy boy' if he was there, for _crying like a littl' bitch_. Or even that his Daddy would do far worse to him if he saw him. Because Daryl didn't want to be no Dixon no more and now he was mourning the man who'd saved him but had never told him his second name. Even if it was only for a little while, Earl had made more than his body better.

_And taught him how to walk._

But now he had no choice but to be Dixon again.

He hated the _fuckin'_ Dixons and he hated _being_ a fuckin' Dixon. Didn't want to be one like his father or brother. Hated their fucked-up rules, hated their sickness that destroyed anything good from within like a cancer. Hated the cycle of hate and violence that trapped them.

Hated how they destroyed everything they fuckin' touched.

_Ruined _it.

He wasn't one of them and they knew it. Why else the viciousness?

After a while, it seemed like eternity, he dried his eyes and thought what he should do. No phone to inform the police or the neighbours who lived miles away, as the cottage was relatively far back from the village. But there would be a public phone somewhere. But he couldn't call the police who would hand him back to the man he was so terrified of and who done his best to break him.

_But Dixons don't cry_.

He could just find a phone and leave a message – he didn't want to leave Earl's body to rot.

For some reason, his eyes were drawn to the large red photo album on top of the wardrobe. Idly, he reached up for it. At least he should try to get to know the old man in order to remember him better. Remember these good times for the bad. Somehow, even young as he was, he sensed that he would need the good memories to sustain him in the future. Turned the first page – just pictures of the old man's wife presumably. She was pretty –long blonde hair – the same colour as Merle's but wearing a colourful tear dress. The couple seemed happy together, the woman looking up adoringly at her husband. Not like his mother who had seemed to hate their father even more than her sons did over time, the woman he remembered as mostly grim and stony-eyed.

And _cold_. _So_ _cold. Didn't care what Daddy did to him or Merle so long as she had her cigarettes and bottle of_ 'medicine' and he left her alone. Daryl struggled to remember when she had ever touched him or Merle but knew she must have done.

_She was their mother after all. _

Turned over a few more pages and suddenly came upon his parents with a jolt of surprise. He recognised the old photos from the mantle-piece before Daddy took them down when Roxie moved in. His father looking young and handsome, his face with a gentle smile on his lips, his mother looking small and fragile beside them, her long raven tresses plaited with colourful ribbons but wearing a traditional white dress. Both in their early twenties, life stretched out long in front of them. She, smiling blissfully with no idea of what her life would turn into. It was their wedding photo and even the date scribbled on top confirmed it – he knew the year they had got hitched. So, the old man hadn't approved but had presumably attended his daughter's wedding. But Mama had never mentioned him, had said both her parents were dead. Had always sounded bitter when she talked about _her_ _family_.

What clinched it was the title at the top of the wedding photograph 'My daughter and her new husband, Walter' with the year. Other photos of the ceremony showed a younger Earl with raven black hair, as dark as their mother's giving her away.'

Earl was his grandfather!


	15. Chapter 15: DarylMerle, DaddyRoxie

Chapter 15 Daryl/Merle and Daddy Dixon/Roxie

**Contains reference to rape and domestic violence in part iii, please don't read if it will trigger. I was trying to decide how far Daddy Dixon would go because obviously he has a certain idea of how a man behaves. How he treats women and children. It seems like it's been ingrained into the Dixons for generations beyond memory. Merle struggles against this indoctrination too with Daryl. And the horror of it is that he isn't always a monster and it would be easier if he **_**was**_**. But he often sounds normal which would make you, if you were his victim, wonder if you were the one who was crazy. Is he really crazy or just plain evil or a bit of both? I tried also to write from a child's perspective – to describe the fear and confusion. Hoping things would get better. **

**Also some more Daryl/Merle love. I've skipped between times, manipulated the sequence of events for my own purposes. Anyway, the first part explains more about what happens after Chapter 11 – **_**Out of my mind**_**. I hope this doesn't confuse anybody.**

i.

After the fight with Ed, Merle half-dragged, half-carried his hyperventilating and shaking brother and pushed him none too gently into his tent. As if to get him out of the sight of the others as quickly as possible. 'What the fuck is wrong with you?' He hissed, with his fists clenched at his sides. 'Dixons don't cry! And they never, _ever_ show fuckin' fear!' Torn between beating the shit out of his embarrassing younger brother and putting his arms round him to give him the comfort he so obviously needed. Wanted to punch the Dixon who had showed his weakness to the others, worst of all, in front of Righteous Rick and Sniggering Shane, making Merle lose face. But he'd never done _that _to_ Dary_l when they were growing up because that would make him like their father. And he had _loathed _the man – was never gonna do the things to _Daryl_, to _a__ fuckin' kid, _that the bastard had done to _him_ as a child.

And of course he'd read psychiatry books in the prison library, knew this behaviour was normal for anyone who'd been through the shit Daryl had. In fact it was a fuckin' miracle that his little brother was not _more_ fucked-up 'cos Baby Brother was _tough_. Didn't mean he had to encourage it, though.

_But he'd have to teach him. _Merle sighed. _Cos' this kind of PTSD shit was likely to get them both killed._

So Merle took him by the shoulders and shook him but this made Daryl only cringe and whimper more. 'Now you made us both look like _pussies, ya fuckin sissy bitch_.Ya ain't no _Dixon__. Ya ain't even a_ _man_.' He sneered cruelly at him_. _ 'They were only gonna cuff ya – weren't gonna do nothin' else, why d'ya need to be such a baby 'bout it? Cos they needed to be seen punishin' ya although everyone is on ya side 'cos they know that fat bastard deserved it. Don't ya get it?... Ya wanna be part of the group?' Merle yelled in his brother's face as he cowered and cringed back. 'Ya think they're gonna respect us after that? Some big, tough guy ya are now! That slimy Shane was fuckin' laughin' at us!' Then, he suddenly released his brother who slid down to the ground and curled up into a cowering ball of terror on the tent floor, gasping for air. And Merle knew that Daryl was almost fuckin' sobbin' but just didn't dare to. It was his baby brother, looking just like he must have done with their fuckin' Daddy that finally did it. Daryl, looking impossibly small and vulnerable, just like a whipped puppy expecting a kicking and worse - acting like he thought he deserved it. Merle felt another surge of useless hatred towards their father who had broken him like that. And seeing him lying there, Merle felt his rage drain slowly away as he got down with him to put one arm around his younger sibling and urge his head down onto his lap. 'I'm sorry.' He told him. '_Merle's_ sorry. Didn't mean to lose my temper with ya.' Speaking to him like his brother was small again. And he had to try twice, three times before Daryl went willingly and for once, didn't struggle. '

_Merle_ ain't gonna let 'em pricks cuff littl' Darlena, ain't gonna let them hurt ya, make ya do things ya don't want.' He whispered softly in his ear, as he stroked his hair soothingly. '_Not_ _like 'im.' _And when Daryl shuddered at the mention of their Daddy and buried his head deeper into his brother's lap, Merle cradled him closer. 'We don't need 'em, 'cos ya'll never be one of 'em, they never gonna be able to understand, they always gonna be lookin' down at ya like ya redneck trash.' He crooned. 'It's only me that really cares about ya, ya know that, don't ya?'

Merle found that he liked it when Daryl freaked out, when he needed him again, when he was _his_.

But he didn't want him to be like it, 'cos _that_ would be _selfish_, he had to try and make him better.

_Somehow. Undo the damage_.

But Daryl was starting to come back to himself and shook his head furiously from side to side, making Merle laugh nastily, sounding exactly like their father. 'Can't fight me, Darlena.' He mocked as Daryl tried to lift himself up - in panic, to get away from his brother but he couldn't make his limbs move. And Merle's one good hand was heavy like a lump of lead on him. Weighing him down.

Marking him for his own.

Anchoring him.

And he was shaking, his heart felt like it was beating far too fast. His breath rapid and ragged.

Felt like it was gonna burst out of his chest any minute.

Hated this feeling of weakness. _Why couldn't he move? _Pushed the familiar childhood feelings of terror and panic away from him.

Anyway, he didn't believe what Merle said – knew it was _Merle_ they would never accept. Knew that his brother just wanted to keep him all to himself.

As _always._ Never could have _anybody _when _Merle_ was around. His psycho big brother soon scared them off.

'Git the fuck off me, _Merle_.' He snarled, fists clenched at his sides. But he couldn't lift his body. And Merle didn't take any notice. 'Don't _touch_ me.' He pleaded suddenly and couldn't stop himself from cringing back as he felt his brother's one good hand move gently over his hair or to stroke his back. Where his _fuckin' scars_ were only covered by his thin shirt. _Must be able to feel them_, he thought and he shuddered.

Why was he touching him there? Why would anyone want to touch something so ugly and disgusting?

So _damaged_?

But Daryl knew. Trying_ to undo the damage he'd let happen_. But he _couldn't_.

_Damage was done_.

And Merle had only started all this touch-feely shit when he'd found out exactly what their father had done to him when he wasn't there.

He wish he hadn't told him. This was fucked-up. It wasn't even like Merle was the caring type.

Had only been this way ever with _his baby brother_.

Now Merle was treating him like a fuckin' _baby _again.

'Not all _touchin_' is about _hurtin'_. His brother told him. 'Bout time you learned that.' Merle laughed dirtily. '_Sometimes - touchin' - _it even feels... _good_. Like with a woman... _Calm down_. Don't be such a fuckin' littl' _pussy_. Ain't no-one gonna hurt ya.'

'_Calm down_.' Merle ordered him again. And Daryl's body obeyed, because Merle was right. _He was always right_. As it stopped flinching from his brother's touch as his breathing slowed and finally became regular again. As it eventually stopped trembling 'cos Merle always knew how to make it stop. His heartbeat slowed too and the feelings of terror and panic began to fade away as his body began to relax. After a while, he growled back, stronger this time, more himself. And Merle inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. 'Fuck ya, Merle – it's _ya_ they'll never accept. Shane's on his way out and they need me. Fuck ya, I don't need ya to protect me. Never _did_.' Daryl snapped again, looking up fiercely from Merle's lap, his eyes an unrelenting blue but then he suddenly broke his hard glare and ducked his head down again and snuggled closer to his brother.'_Ya_ never did.' he repeated again, mumbling accusingly into his brother's lap.

At these words, that old, familiar guilt stabbed into Merle suddenly as he smoothed back his brother's hair. _Him_, who never regretted _nothin'_. Nothin' except when it came to his baby brother who he'd left behind.

The only thing in this worthless world he gave a damn about.

Left him alone with that monster who'd done his best to break Daryl i_n every fuckin' way _he could jus' because he could never get to Merle.

Could never break _him._

Because Baby Brother had always been more vulnerable. And Merle had never had anyone to look out for _him_. To protect _him_.

Merle shook off the memories. Changing the subject, he said, 'Ya hair's gettin' long, baby brother.' Merle ran his fingers through it. 'Ya look like one of those pansy fag-boys. Better ask Carol to cut it.' He teased him.

'Fuck off, Merle. The women like it.' But Daryl laughed and Merle laughed with him with relief.

And then Daryl vaguely felt his brother's other arm, the one _without a hand_, go around him. Making him feel safe. Because Daryl was beginning to drift, _leave _like he always did when shit got too fucked up because when he came back, he was always _better_.

Merle sensed him preparing to go _walking, _that he needed to_ leave_ to come back whole again and answered the unspoken question that passed between them out loud. 'Go on - get the fuck outta of 'ere, if ya need to. But if you're not back soon I'm gonna start callin' ya sorry ass back, ya hear?'

_Fine_. Drifting back into memories of their grandfather – before he _left_. The man Daryl shared his gift with and who had helped him control it better.

ii.

After Earl's death, he'd left the authorities with an anonymous tip. Didn't want his grandfather's body rotting, 'cos chances were he wouldn't be found for days, if not longer. And Daryl owed him this much – owed him so much more in fact. He'd left the old man behind, after kissing his cheek in farewell, armed with his crossbow and dagger, regretting that he hadn't known about him earlier but glad that he finally did.

_Wishing that he hadn't died and that he could have lived with him instead of having to go back to his Daddy. Wished that he'd found out he was his grandfather earlier._

Reluctant to go home straight away, he had found an empty lumberjack's cabin. But it was drafty and as winter drew on, it got harder and harder to find food. And his clothes were too thin for this weather. So, reluctantly his thoughts turned to home. What if Merle came home from wherever he was after all and he wasn't there? Maybe Daddy realised that he'd gone too far and would be better from now on, especially if Daryl didn't do the things that made him mad. Maybe his father had even missed him and would be relieved to see that he was home safe. And gradually, he forgot why he'd left in the first place and things didn't seem so bad after his week with Earl. The memory of the last whipping had faded somewhat although he had the scars to remind him. Because a week and a half to a 10 year old seemed like a small eternity. And also he'd had time to heal, he'd put on weight with his grandfather but now of course he was losing it again now in the harsh conditions. All these thoughts ran through his head as he lay shivering in his thin shirt and sweater under a couple of cheap blankets in the cabin.

He'd forgotten what it was like living with his father. The pain and terror faded into the distance of time.

However, he realised that he couldn't survive on his own in winter – not like he thought. He was just a boy after all. So, reluctantly, he decided to go home, as night was almost over, he'd leave at dawn.

He tried to find his way back and although he'd _walked _the path before, he kept getting lost and even when he left his body to scout the way, he still somehow got confused. Found that the path he'd been following for what seemed like hours led him back full circle but even then he couldn't even be sure that he was back where he thought he was.

Later as an adult with more understanding, he would realise that his subconscious didn't want to go back home to his father, that he was 'getting lost' _accidently on purpose_. Especially since his gift had never failed him before.

Upon later reflection, he would know that it had been trying to warn him, stop him from going home.

Starving, confused, he'd luckily found a small spring of brackish water and dipped his hands and drunk from it.

After about two days, feeling like he was going to faint, he eventually came onto the older part of the forest which he recognised immediately and knew that he was close to home. It was early dinnertime and his stomach grumbled hungrily. And he felt relief because of course he knew the way from here.

Feeling apprehensive, not knowing what kind of welcome to expect but hoping that his father was out, he passed his and Merle's meadow then knocked on the door of his house. Listened for noises, voices, heard none. There was no one at home and he breathed a sigh of relief. Thought at first the door was locked but as he gave it a gentle push, it swung open. '_Cos the Dixons didn't have nothin' worth robbin'_.

Shocked at the sight that greeted his eyes.

The place was a mess – empty and half –full bottles of J.D and bourbon and beer cans, wine glasses all over the living room – on the coffee-table, on the floor. Dirty cups and takeaway dishes littered the kitchen, piled up in untidy stacks with mouldy remnants of food on them. So Daryl raised the corner of Roxie's T-shirt against his nose and mouth to smother the stench.

Looked like the place had been deserted for weeks. Where was his father anyway?

But he was hungry. Looked in the fridge, gagging because the smell was worst there and of course there was nothing he could eat inside.

Food rotting – looked like they'd gone away for months but it had only been a couple at most. Then he heard a noise behind him as Roxie and his father came back. The girl was giggling, tossing her brown ponytail, her mouth red with lipstick but Daryl didn't fail to notice the red marks around her throat and the small black and blue bruises on her slim arms. When she saw the boy, she ran to him and embraced him, smacking kisses all over his face while Daryl flinched back. Could smell the stench of beer. 'Ugh' he muttered in his discomfort. 'Where ya been, baby? Ain't ya pleased to see me? We've been gone two weeks.' She asked him, laughing wildly.

'Leave the boy alone, woman.' His father told her although not unkindly. Laughing, his hazel eyes twinkling with merriment and whiskey. 'How about ya clear this place up, son? Why didn't ya do it while we were away? What ya bin doin' with yourself? Woman – ya make us some food we can eat. I'm starvin'.' His father commanded her.

'We ain't got no food in the house.'

'Well then, Daryl, go and buy us some. Here's 20 dollars. Go get bacon, eggs and bread. And make sure I get the full change back.'

They sat round the table, eating in tense silence. After Daryl had helped Roxie to clean up the place. Daryl was almost beginning to forget why he had left – seemed like things had gone back to normal. Neither Daddy nor Roxie showed interest in what Daryl had been doing after they left for their 'little road trip'. And for some reason, he didn't want to tell them that he'd found his mother's father. Knew how his Daddy hated those _fuckin' redskins_ as he liked to call them. Didn't even want to tell Merle either 'cos their grandfather belonged to Daryl. 'Cos Earl was _his_.

Nothing bad happened and Daryl was starting to think that things would get better, be normal. Forgot how scared he was of his father. Hoped that Daddy was going to be like he used to be with him. That maybe there would be no more whippings or punishments. After all, he wasn't _Merle_. Daryl would just have to make sure that he didn't do anything to set his father off.

iii.

After dinner, his father and his girlfriend took a couple of bottles of JW's into the bedroom and tobacco to make spliffs and Daryl went to bed. Fell asleep immediately, he was so exhausted but was woken up from a deep, dreamless sleep by his father's yelling. Didn't know what time it was. He could hear every word although he tried to block the sound out by covering his ears with a pillow.

Just like Daddy had been with Mama.

'Ya fuckin' littl' bitch! Ya wanna leave? Who'll have an ugly, dumb junkie bitch like ya? Only me is willin' to put up with ya skanky ass!'

But Roxie was young and feisty and foolishly fought back. 'Me? Who'd want me? I have a queue of young, hot guys waiting round the block who want my phone number. Who'd want an ugly old layabout bastard like you? Your own son made your face like that after he beat the shit outta ya. No-on can understand what I see in ya – no one!' And she slapped his father!

Daryl trembled, wanting to tell her not to answer back to Daddy, especially not to hit him, 'cos it was really dangerous.

Remembered the last time he'd talked back to him and what had happened.

Now she was in for it.

Daryl flinched and cowered as he heard the first slap and Roxie's gasp. Then the next and the next.

She was crying now. 'Everyone was right about you, you're just a worthless drunk without a job who hits women and kids!' She screamed.

He was shaking now, tried to cover his ears with the pillow but it didn't help. Wishing above everything else that Merle was here – cos' Merle would know what to do. Daryl didn't – he was just a kid. He was just _littl' Darlena_. Couldn't help Mama neither when she was alive.

Heard Roxie's screams as his father moved on to using his fists now. Probably kicking her to the floor as well.

_Of fuckin' course_.

Bringing his knees up to his chest, Daryl curled up into a ball, trying to block out the noises from the other room. Couldn't help his body trembling though Daddy wasn't punishing _him_.

Shouldn't matter. Merle would say, 'Don't give a shit. She ain't Mama. She jus' some ugly junkie whore he's shacked up with.'

But Daryl couldn't not care because Roxie had been kind to him, had made his breakfast before he went to school, packed his lunch and washed his clothes. Said she'd always wanted a little brother but only had an older sister. Had kissed him and ruffled his hair although he thought _that _was yucky.

Had always called him _Baby_.

Not him getting punished. Should just be glad and not give a shit.

Suddenly, his and Merle's bedroom door opened with a crash and his father was standing in the doorway only in his pyjama bottoms. Eyes red and his eternal lopsided grin looking even more demonic than usual, his hair mussed up and Daryl knew he was next. But his father only ordered him into the living room. He could hear Roxie's sobs coming from their bedroom.

'Stop fuckin' shakin'.' His father ordered him but Daryl couldn't. 'I'm only gonna teach ya a little lesson, son. How men handle uppity women who don't know their place.' With that he went to the bedroom and dragged out Roxie by her hair and threw her to the ground. She was wearing a short, pink, silk slip and it rode up to expose her smooth, pale thighs and Daryl looked away embarrassed. Her face was a battered mess of red marks and bruises. Her lipstick and mascara smudged with her tears – looking like a hideous clown's mask. She was crying by now, defeated and curled up into a ball on the floor.

_Broken_ like him how many times on the floor?

Lying on the floor just like Daryl had done. And just like he'd done to him in the past, his father pulled his booted foot back and kicked her several times in the ribs and she screamed.

'That's for answerin' me back, you little slut! For threatenin' to leave me!' Then he knelt down to hiss in her face, as she cringed away from him. 'You ain't never leavin' me, bitch! Unless I let ya, 'cos you're mine now.'

'Stop!' Daryl cried.

'What?' His father replied increduously. 'Stop what?' Then his eyes narrowed as if weighing up options. His eyes drunkenly flickering back and forth between Roxie and Daryl.

'You ever fucked, son?' He asked casually.

Daryl was confused. Why was his father asking him this?

'Wha…why?' He stammered. He was only ten for fuck's sake.

'Merle was an early starter. Not much older than you when he stuck it to the first bored housewife down the road.' His father guffawed at his own dirty joke.

'But not you, huh, _sweet Daryl_.' His father sniggered.

'Leave…leave 'im alone, he's jus' a baby.'

'Shut up bitch!' His father kicked her again and she groaned.

'Let Daddy show ya how it's done.' His father bent down to gently pick up Roxie. With a tenderness which somehow made everything worse. And she struggled uselessly – his father had a least a 100 pounds on her.

'No, no, please. Not in front of the boy.' She reached up with her hands and cupped his face, kissed his father full on the mouth. 'Let's go back in the bedroom, hey, baby? Ya can do what ya want there, I'll _let_ you.' And she tried to lead him by the hand back into their room.

Daryl cringed back at this grotesque scene – Roxie with her hideous clown mask kissing his father, trying to persuade a monster to show mercy because he knew that it would do no good. So, he put his hands over his eyes.

'Please, Walter, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. You don't have to do this. I'll do anything ya want.'

'Shut ya mouth, whore. Ya'll do what ya told.' His father slapped her face only lightly but she flinched.

'Don't ya cover ya eyes, boy!' His father yelled at him. 'Or I'll punish ya next. Be a man, watch and learn!'

So grabbing her brutally by the hair, his father slammed Roxie against the kitchen table and pinned her there. Then pulled down his pyjama bottoms and pulled her slip up and began to thrust into her violently without preamble in front of his youngest son. She screamed in pain, writhed like she was being tortured as he pounded away at her. Like she was trying to escape. And Daryl could only watch, wishing he was a thousand miles away. Thought about _leaving _but didn't dare. He felt sickened, although of course, Merle had made him watch his porno movies with him 'to educate him' but they were nothing like _this_.

His father continued, gasping in between groans which seemed to last forever to Daryl shuddering with a shout of triumph as he came and pushed himself off his girlfriend.

'This is how we deal with women who talk back to us. Who _disrespect us._' His father lectured as he pulled up his trousers and his breathing slowed down to normal again.

Looking proudly over to his son.

But Daryl watched horrified. There was a difference to watching sex on TV and watching your own father do it. Besides, the women in his brother's favourite movies had seemed to enjoy it. And he hated his Daddy even more, swore that he was never gonna do that sex thing.

Pulling up his trousers, his father grabbed Roxie and pushed her, docile now, her eyes glazed, stumbling back into the bedroom. Refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

'This is what a _real _man does, son. And don't ya forget it. This is how we punish our women when they step out of line.'

'This is how you fuck one.' Daddy added.

'Get in there, bitch.' He ordered her. 'And make sure ya _mind_ me next time.'

The next morning, Roxie sullenly laid the table and cooked the breakfast for Daryl and his father but didn't make anything herself. Refused to meet Daryl's eyes. The new bruises on her legs and her black eye and split lips didn't escape him either. She said nothing but glared in silent accusation at his father who was behaving like nothing had happened. Acting jolly, he reached over her arm to grab the sugar for his coffee and she jerked it violently away and backed away from him. 'Hey, honey,' his father said, 'I said I was sorry about last night. Things jus' got a littl' outta hand, is'all.' His father said with a comic hangdog look on his face.

Usually it would have charmed her into forgiving him but not this time.

'Fuck you, Walter. I'm leavin' ya. What ya did last night…..and the way ya treat ya poor son - everybody's right about ya, Dixons are the fuckin' scum of the earth. Should 'ave listened to 'em.

Walter shrugged. 'Ya jus' do what ya gotta do, sluts like you who'll do anythin' for some meth and booze are easy to come by. Ya ain't nothin' special, darlin'.'

She didn't reply but slamming the milk down, grabbed her handbag and walked out the door. Without a single look back. 'I'll send your crap onto your place, shall I?' His father called after her but she didn't answer. Left without saying goodbye to Daryl either and he just wanted to run after her and beg her not to go. Tell her he didn't want to watch last night but his father made him. Plead with her not to leave him alone with his Daddy.

But Daddy was watching him with his eyes narrowed, like he could tell what he was thinking and he was frozen to the chair.

Left him just like Merle did. Even Earl. Did everyone have to leave him? Wasn't there anyone who cared enough to stay?

His father, seemingly unaffected, swallowed back the rest of his coffee and carried on eating his toast. And Daryl looked down at his boiled egg and soldiers that he no longer wanted, in fact had had never wanted. His appetite, good when he was at Earl's seemed to have disappeared since he came back. His stomach felt all twisted up into knots.

'Come on, eat up boy. Ya gonna need ya strength. We got a lot of chores to do today.

And Daryl reluctantly began to eat. But each mouthful seemed like hard stones that wouldn't go down his throat, every swig of orange juice burned his gullet.

'Looks like it's just you and me now, son.'

And Daryl couldn't help the shudder that passed through him at his father's words.


	16. Chapter 16: Worse than Walkers

**Chapter 16: Worse than Walkers**

**By the way, sorry in advance for the homophobic reference but I don't think Daryl is a real homophobe, he's just using the family language that they grew up with to his brother.**

Daryl's eyes fluttered and he came to slowly. Heard another man's snores close by his ear, didn't know where he was and first panicked and struggled as he felt what seemed like someone's weight on top of him.

_Pinned down_. _Trapped_. _Couldn't breathe_.

Then he'd remembered. He'd lost it with Ed and the others had wanted to punish him. But Merle had stopped them. It was only his brother and his heavy arms around him.

Only _holding_ him. _Babying _him.

'What the fuck ya doin', _Merle_?' He hissed at his brother and pushed away the muscular, tattooed arms encircling him as Merle stirred but didn't wake up.

'Git the fuck off me, ya fuckin' fag.' He growled at him. 'I ain't a _fuckin'_ _baby_.'

_Don't need you, never needed you 'cos you were never there. _

_Not when it mattered, anyway._

He was in a particularly bad mood because he hadn't wanted to _come back_, had been enjoying the high sense of euphoria from circling the forest while borrowing the eyes of a mountain eagle. He'd never been able to do that before. Had soared over the peaks and valleys where the cattle looked like tiny dots, the rivers like thin threads of silver winding in between them. The mountain scenery had been stunning as he'd turned and wheeled on the updrafts.

Until he'd finally given in to the urgency in his brother's calls after gently withdrawing from the bird's body, leaving it a little disorientated but otherwise unharmed. Knowing that he could have killed it easily, ripped it apart from the inside if he'd wanted to. Or ordered its heart to stop beating, its lungs from drawing breath. But he'd felt its anxious desire to return to its mate sitting on the nest with their young, its need to bring down prey to feed them through the image in its mind. More or less pleading with him.

So he'd let it go.

'_Thank-you.' _He'd whispered gently to its mind before leaving. 'Go feed your family.' And this made him think of his own family, even if they weren't _blood_.

Hadn't known he could do that. Hadn't the old man said that it would be impossible for him 'cos he weren't pure blood?

And he'd come back because Merle made him think something had happened.

But Daryl had seen something important, something that affected the survival of them all, that he urgently needed to tell Rick. But before he could think what it was, he rolled onto his side away from his brother and had fallen into a deep sleep.

'Cos_ walking _took a lot of energy_. _And before he succumbed to the waves of weariness, he knew that he should try to stay awake long enough to tell the Merle and Rick what he'd seen but he couldn't hold on. Had tried his best but wasn't able to.

_Sorry_, he mumbled to no-one in particular before the darkness took over and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The sun was rising, filling the tent with a golden glow through its thin, blue walls and Merle woke up, his arms feeling strangely empty and uneasy from dreams of birds flying over mountains. Worse, he'd sensed a danger a little far off but marching closer all the time which contained a ring of truth but he couldn't remember what it was.

_Not the Walkers_, something even worse. And getting nearer. What had he read in one of those books in prison? 'Hell is other people.'1 Who'd said that? How could they have known?

Merle shook his head to try to clear it. Didn't believe in their Mama's superstitious crap or what she called her sixth sense or her stories of people turning into animals. However, one early memory rose unbidden, of sitting on her lap and her reading to him from that magic book with arms around him. Crooning to him, calling him her 'special baby-boy. ' Even _stroking_ his fuckin' hair.

Before_ Daryl_.

_And he felt that old surge of jealousy and resentment towards his brother, 'cos when baby brother came, he'd been her 'special baby- boy' for a little while too and she had ignored Merle._

_Probably Daryl didn't remember her being like that with him._

When had she changed? Why?

But he didn't want to think about _that_.

He pushed the memory away because otherwise it would mean that she'd loved him once and that he didn't have a reason to hate her no more.

_Fuck_ – why were the memories of _her _always worse than the ones of his father? He mused as he unconsciously rubbed one of his scars – the long thin, silvery one that ran up all the way from his wrist to just below his elbow.

Then he noticed the light snores coming from his brother from the other side of the tent. At least _Darlena_ had come back but only hours of Merle calling him. '_Little bastard'_, he muttered but without any real anger.

'Cos despite what the others thought, Daryl didn't do nothin' he didn't want to do.

_Them_, looking at _him_ like he was the fuckin' Pied Piper, come to lure their little precious Daryl away from them.

Or the Devil, gonna steal his soul or somethin'.

Thought he had some kinda evil influence over his baby brother.

Didn't know that it was Daryl who called the shots, not him. Despite appearances.

Even if it hadn't always been like that, it was now. When had Merle stopped being the one in charge? He couldn't remember.

Daryl stirred uneasily as his snores died away and his eye-lids fluttered open and looked sleepily at his brother. Merle checked him over by looking into his eyes. Saw he was relaxed now and Merle could almost hearing him purring like a mountain lion, lolling about and luring its prey into a false sense of security before it pounces. And he glimpsed the flash of steel buried just beneath the blue depths and knew that _Daryl_ was back.

_At least until next time vulnerable little Darlena emerged_, broken by their father, needing his big brother again.

'What did you see, little brother?' He demanded urgently without delay. 'Are we in deep shit or what? Not that I give a flying fuck about Shane or Rick. But even _I _wouldn't want nothin' bad to happen to Carol or _that sweet littl' Beth_.' And Merle licked his lips lasciviously like a pantomime villian because of course he'd sensed their growing closeness with Daryl. Was trying to goad him. But he didn't need to explain the images he'd gleaned from his brother's mind – the danger that he'd sensed he'd seen, even if they took it for granted.

Daryl's eyes lost their glazed, complacent look and snapped wide open, as if his brother's question had jerked him sharply back to reality. He ignored his brother's jibes, knew that Merle was jealous 'cos none of the women in the camp would hook up with him, despite his clumsy efforts.

'We gotta tell Rick! There's another group, not _like us_ - about 30 of them and they got weapons, more than we got!' He leapt up, almost running out of the door. 'They killin' everyone – the men, even the littl' kids. Except for the _women_, they _keepin_' _those_ but soon they gonna wish they were dead! And they headin' this way!'

'Hold on, littl' brother.' Merle tried to stop him. 'Let's think about this. Why is it our problem? Ya forgot what they did to me?' And he raised his stump, jerking it at the ceiling for emphasis. 'We don't owe these bastards nothin'. We can just _go_.' He added wheedingly.

'Fuck ya, Merle! Ya deserved it 'cos ya a simple-minded piece of shit! Who don't care 'bout no-one but 'imself!' Daryl turned round and yelled in his brother's face. 'And if ya weren't such obnoxious, racist scum, they wouldn't have cuffed ya to the roof in the first place!'

Merle was surprised. Daryl was yelling at him? He was definitely _back_. 'Ya choosing them over me, _boy?_ Me who raised ya, stopped 'im from…from...' But he found that he couldn't speak in his rage as he got ready to drag Daryl outside and show him with his fists who was boss.

'Yeah? Stopped 'im from what?' Daryl sneered back. 'Ya didn't stop 'im from nothin'! Get outta my fuckin' _way_!' And he shoved Merle aside.' They good people, not like us, _Merle!_' He called back over his shoulder.

And before Merle could move, his brother was out of the tent and striding towards the main camp.

1 Jean-Paul Sartre


	17. Chapter 17 Scars

_Scars_

**(Contains mention of consensual sex (foreplay) in the third part – hope it is realistic – I never really wrote much of it before.) More on the brothers' relationship – I find this so interesting to write about it with Merle trying to pull Daryl one way, the group pulling him in the other direction. I forgot to say this has some AU elements and my interpretation of the brothers' relationship is a little quirky – unusual.**

i

Once he'd got away from his brother, his own _fuckin' brother_ who'd been practically spooning with him when they were sleeping. True, he had been gone _walking_, not himself in fact. His brother's arms had been around him like what Merle would have called filthy homo-fags did (not that Daryl had a problem with them as long as they didn't come onto him) but Merle always acted like _he _did. Had dragged Daryl into more than one gay-bashing to cover his back with his ex- soldier buddies. Or strode into gay bars and deliberately provoked fights. This made Daryl wonder if something had happened to him in prison but surely not – Merle was always an alpha wolf – would never have been _anyone's_–would have killed them first. But of course Daryl hadn't wanted to know but he had guessed what Merle'd done without any pussy available all those long months when he'd been banged up.

But then he thought it wasn't _like that_, he was just been paranoid. Of course even Merle felt guilty for not being there when Daryl needed him like he'd always promised, this was his way of trying to make it up to him. By treating him like he was a baby again with this touchy-feely shit. _Well_, _it's too late for that.'C'os I toughened up just like ya always taught me and in the end I killed him when I was only fuckin' twelve years old. Same age as Carl. Did what you threatened but never had the balls to do. Is that tough enough for ya? Am I a man now? A real fuckin' Dixon?_

_Fuck ya and fuck'im. _He thought angrily as Merle ran up to him and grabbed his arm roughly but Daryl furiously shook it off and carried on walking.

'Look, we could just go. We don't owe these people anythin'.' His brother tried to reason with him.

'Same old Merle, don't give a damn about no-one but ya worthless self. Ya go. _Leave_.'

'I'm your _blood_, boy! And they damn near killed me. Ya forgot that already?' Merle barked at him and furiously turned his brother around to face him while Daryl struggled, pushing him away finally and then backing away from him. 'Don't ya ever forget ya _kin_, _little brother_. ' He drawled. 'We _Dixons_. Look, I know about ya and ya sweet little girlfriend but she ain't worth dying for. Carol neither.' Merle's spoke quieter and his voice turned almost wheedling. 'Don't ya remember we were gonna rob 'em blind?'

Daryl's eyes opened in surprise and ignoring the last question, he stammered 'How d'ya know…she ain't my girlfriend.' Then, he looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet shyly.

'Ya can't hide anything from me, boy. I known ya since you were in shittin' and pissin' in your own diapers, unable to clean or feed yourself remember? And I seen the way she follows ya around with her puppy-dog eyes – _those_ _big, blue eyes_. Merle drawled. 'Cos you now the big hero who saved her from those scary, bad men. ' Merle continued, his tone softening as he leered and waggled his tongue suggestively. 'Hey, maybe I'll take a shot at in one or two years when she's _grown_.' He teased, emphasising the last word.

'Ya keep ya fllthy hands off her!' Daryl growled at the older man and clenched his fists at his side. 'Ya stay away from Beth, ya hear!'

Merle chuckled at his brother's protectiveness and lifted his hands in mock surrender. ' Don't worry,_ I_ don't fuck little girls but she sure is sweet. How can ya resist, little brother? Ya a better man than me.' He guffawed mockingly.

'We ain't….we ain't doin' nothin'…'

'Yeah right. Ya expect me to believe that, little brother? When ya cosying up with her every night? Her sweet little ass warm and willing in ya bed?' He licked his lips obscenely. ' Guess her father and Rick would take ya out and shoot ya, if they knew. Better we don't go back, hey. 'Cos _someone _might let it slip.'

'Fuck you, Merle.' Daryl hissed. 'Ya won't say nothin' because if ya do, ya ain't my brother no more.' Because he knew that this was what Merle feared most, losing him and being left all alone because no one else would have him. 'Asshole,' Daryl muttered to himself as he turned away and resumed his stride back to the main camp. He had people he needed to warn, to save and besides, he knew that Merle wouldn't do what he threatened. And tonight he would sleep in his own bed and Beth would probably come since he'd taken more to sleeping in the prison and not in his tent. Somehow, he'd got used to it and the feelings of being trapped had faded. Especially when she was there. He'd never known the difference it could make having another body sleeping beside you, to keep the demons at bay.

His older brother sighed but followed. He wondered when the balance of power between them had changed, remembering when _Daryl _used to do everything Merle told him and follow _him_ around with big, puppy-dog eyes. Looking up at him like he was _his_ fuckin' hero who stopped Daddy hurting him.

How Merle missed those bad old days.

ii.

Daryl broke into a run as he approached the prison and Merle was reluctantly forced to keep up with him. 'Damn ya, ya littl' bitch, Darlena.' He muttered irritably at his brother's back.

The gate was closed of course and Daryl motioned Glenn to open it, ignoring his questioning look, he told him 'I need to see Rick, now!'

'OK, …._OK_, _son,_ what's the big emergency?' Herschell piped in. 'Ya look like ya feelin' better.' He added.

'I'll tell you all after I've seen Rick.'

'He's in the recreation room.'

'Tell everyone to meet there, I got some important information but I need to speak to him alone first.'

Before the meeting began (it took some time to get most people there who could come), Carol came and very lightly touched his arm, her face brightening as soon as he walked in. Beth only smiled at him – they didn't want to make things obvious. And most people asked him if he was feeling better now, their faces showing their relief. And it seemed like they preferred to pretend that he had been sick. Only Glenn and Maggie glared and pointed at Merle. 'Why is he here?' Glenn asked furiously as he moved to protectively stand in front of his girlfriend.

'Because he's my brother.' Daryl answered calmly, keeping the snarl out of his voice with great difficulty.

'You forgot what he did to me and Glenn?' Maggie yelled furiously.

Merle sighed wearily. 'Look, we've been through this, ya want me to get down on my knees and grovel? I said I'm sorry.'

'Everybody shut up!' Rick suddenly yelled. 'Daryl's one of us and maybe we don't like his brother but he's with us now.' Merle snickered at his candour and then leaned back casually against the wall. 'Sides, what Daryl's got to tell us is more important than your personal differences.' Rick continued.

'If ya don't want my brother, I'll leave with 'im. Either all or nothin'.' Daryl added resolutely and then glared around at everyone. Then he looked at Rick who nodded. 'Tell them what you told me and Shane.' The former cop encouraged him.

'Something worse than the Governor is comin' - don't reckon he'll make _his _move for a while. Randall's crew - at least 30 – are coming over the mountains.' He began with minimum preamble. 'They'll be here in 2 or 3 days at _most_. And they killin' _everybody_ – men, little kids, except the women. And if they come here, the women gonna wish they were _dead_.' And as he glanced over at them, Beth, Maggie and Lori shuddered at his chilling words as a worried babble of voices greeted his news. And Lori placed her hands over her growing stomach defensively.

Shane of course challenged Daryl's source of information, speaking loudly over the anxious voices. 'How the hell can you see over the mountains?'

Daryl shrugged. 'Got spy-glasses, went on my bike.'

'Can I see you in private, Daryl?' Rick asked him quietly. Shane's sneer at this question didn't escape him from the corner of his eye either. 'You best buddies, now? What about _me?_'. Shane asked sarcastically. '_I'm_ your second in command.' He whispered furiously at the leader. And Daryl caught Dale's eye and knew that he understood that Shane was being shut out of the inner circle. It seemed that no one, including Rick, had forgotten how he'd used unnecessary force on Daryl.

Or suspected that he had abused his power in other ways. No-one really trusted him now.

'Shane, I'll tell you later. I just want to get some details clear with Daryl of what he saw.'

'Fine.' The other replied ungraciously, obviously not convinced as he turned away.

'Sorry about my... um…episode, and for attacking Ed.' Daryl apologised awkwardly when they were alone because where he came from, no one did apologies.

'That's OK. We're just glad that you're _back_.' (Rick emphasised the last word) and Daryl wondered at the other man's look of concern. Like he actually cared. 'We understand why you reacted like you did, we really do. Your Carol's friend after all. But we just can't be seen to condone it, there got to be a process, rules, ya understand.'

'How is he?'

'He's on the mend.'

'Hopefully, he's learnt his lesson for good.'

'Yep, we hope so if we can keep him off the booze.'

'Daryl….' Rick began tentatively, speaking to him more gently than usual. 'I know about your _gift_. About _walking_. That's how you knew about the enemy coming over the mountains, wasn't it? And I believe you. Now, before the Apocalypse, I wouldn't have believed a word of it, would have laughed it off as a load of superstitious claptrap. But I've got to believing in a lot of stuff that would have seemed impossible lately. Like a virus that turns people into the walking dead who feed on the living, for example.'

Daryl was taken aback, he'd never told anyone before. 'Did Merle tell you?' He asked panic growing in his voice.

'Now, don't ya be getting angry at ya brother. I'm the leader – I need to know these things. I won't tell anyone else – nobody else needs to know. It's just between you, me and Merle. But this ability could be very useful for us. Do you know how far you can go?'

'I'm not sure but when I saw Randall's crew, I was flying above the mountains with an eagle. Never could do that before but I can't always choose when I _walk_. And I can't do nothin', only look and watch.' Daryl smiled at the memory while Rick's eyes widened in surprise and excitement.

'Now that could be useful. Maybe we can see our enemies or a herd before they reach us.' He said but then his face fell as he contemplated the danger they were in. 'Let's call everybody back – we need a plan.'

So they decided that they would stay and fight. Rick with Shane delegated the orders. Reinforcements of the windows and doors would be needed, possible points of entry blocked and weapons and medical supplies stockpiled. Extra sentries were put on duty not just on the lookout for the Walkers who seemed relatively harmless in comparison to what was coming and the many other things needed to be done to prepare for war. Throughout the prison settlement, it felt that people were keeping busy to stop themselves dwelling on the fact that the next dawn might be their last. A heavy cloud of dread was hanging over the whole camp – intangible but it could be sensed. Everyone was waiting for a resolution – one way or another and it would be a relief when the attack by Randall's people finally came. And there was always the added fear of a possible attack by Woodbury on top.

iii.

Later that night, Daryl lay in bed in the prison cell. Even his brother had abandoned the tent, bringing it inside and found his own after Daryl's news. Funny thing – Merle had known about the danger too before Daryl had even told him but that happened sometimes that his brother could pick up his thoughts. Or the images he had seen on his travels outside his own body.

Merle had some of the Cherokee gifts but not as powerfully as his younger sibling. Daryl glanced at his cheap battery alarm clock taken on some run or other – nearly 2, where was _she?_ Maybe she wasn't coming. He was about to give up, maybe she didn't want to be with him anymore after his episode when they'd tried to restrain him. Or maybe she was scared of him after what he'd done to Ed. And he couldn't blame her for thinking he was a psycho – after all he was going to gut the wife-beater with his hunting knife. He sighed and turned over.

But before he could drift into a really deep sleep, he felt her slip into bed beside him and his arm automatically went round her. And she snuggled closer to him, laying her head on his chest.

And she was wearing that short, pure-white silk peignoir again that didn't even begin to nearly cover enough. And he turned his head away, tried not to look. She was just a kid after all.

'Ya OK? Ya not scared of me, are ya?' He mumbled sleepily and felt her shake her head before she answered, 'No. Why?'

'After what I nearly did to Ed.'

'No. Of course not... but I'm scared of those men comin', men like Randall. And the Governor.' She trembled beside him and he pulled her closer to him.

'_I a_in't gonna let anyone hurt ya, sweetheart.' He drawled reassuringly and pulled her closer to his chest but then his breathing slowed and he began to snore lightly. '

Wait.' She said, shaking him awake.

'What…?'

'Well, …If tonight is maybe our last night….how come we never do… anything? I mean don't ya like me?'

He struggled awake, his eyes fluttering.

'Why haven't you kissed me yet? All we do is sleep.'

'Too young.' He mumbled dozily. He was so damn tired. 'Merle says…..'

'What does Merle say?' She asked alarmed. 'Did you tell him about us?'

'He knows anyway… always knows everythin'... Don't worry…Won't say nothin'. He closed his eyes and his breathing became regular.

'Wake up! ' She hissed, thumping his chest lightly. He came awake immediately when she did _that_, reaching instinctively for his knife and crossbow but then realising where he was and who he was with.

'It's been 3 weeks. I want you to…to…kiss me.' She insisted.

No answer. He tightened his arm around her and gently urged her back down. But she didn't want to lie down – it was the _last _thing she wanted to do.

She sprang up again. She could hold back no longer – they might all be dead tomorrow. She inclined her head and slowly moved her lips closer to his. She knew that he flinched a lot and she wanted to give him plenty of warning, he was always so skittish. But he was wide awake now but she merely bumped her lips against his. Before trying again, then his mouth was open and he was ready. She closed her eyes as their tongues met, sparks of electricity. He closed his eyes too and put his arm around her and then plunged his hand deep into the mass of her soft, blond hair. They stopped to breathe and then kissed again, this time longer and deeper. He was forgetting what he was doing, seemed like he was on autopilot but shit, she was just a kid. More than 20 years younger than him.

Merle's words rang in his ears but he ignored them as his body took over. But he still wasn't sure how far he could go with this _kid_ so he tentatively slid one hand down from her waist and and cupped one buttock. An unwelcome flashback of Daddy and Roxie in the kitchen came to him, Roxie's bruised and battered, terrified face. _Her shame_.

'Cos for him, how his Daddy had taught him, sex had always meant receiving pain or inflicting it.

But he wasn't gonna do _that_.

'Ain't never gonna do what Daddy did to Roxie.' He mumbled, barely realising what he was saying. She pulled back and stared at him curiously. 'What?' she breathed.

'Nothin.' He muttered and kissed her again.

She didn't seem to mind what he did and took it as a signal to straddle him. Encouraged, he reached up with one hand to touch one breast, his finger tips grazing one nipple that he could feel through the thin fabric of her nightdress. Was she wearing any panties, he wondered but didn't dare to ask.

She seemed to like what he was doing, she arched her back and gave out a soft moan in response. He touched her breasts again, one hand on each, concentrating on rubbing the nipples. She was getting excited now, he could tell and she hadn't pushed him away or asked him to stop. She bent down and kissed him again while he massaged her nipples. 'It's OK, I want to.' She breathed. 'And I'm not wearing any panties. Touch me there.' And she guided his fingers down. By then, both were breathing heavily, panting almost. 'I had a fiance, ya know.' She said. 'We were going to get married.'

'Sorry.' He said, distracted.

'Do it like that, that's good, that' s good.' She moaned.

And she leaned forward as she was gasping, as his hands were moving faster under her. Her hands snaked towards his chest she wanted to reach under his shirt, to undress him while he touched her. To feel his skin. Then she was going to pull his trousers off. But now she was going to touch him where his scars were – on his back of course. She would maybe feel them before she saw them. She would know that he was ugly, a monster, who'd deserved all of them for killing his own mother. With this realisation, he felt his desire fade, felt himself shrinking.

'Don't.' He said taking his hands away from under her to push hers away from his chest. They were wet. And she nearly screamed 'Don't stop!' in frustration but then she calmed down. After all, they had the whole night before them.

She could wait, even if it was the end of the world. She'd waited a long time already, had been patient with him.

But she thought he was teasing. 'Come on, don't be shy.' She coaxed laughingly and tried again. But he didn't hear _her_, all he heard was his father yelling and slapping him, '_Take your shirt off, boy!' _and he couldn't help cringing back.

'_Don't_'. He repeated, this time and he sounded how it came out sounding like a _plea_.

She took notice this time and got off him.

'What's wrong, baby? I thought we were having fun.' And she put her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

'There's something I gotta show you first. Now, don't be scared.'

'OK.' Curious, and not a little alarmed, she released him.

'See – Daddy was a mean drunk, sometimes even when he wasn't drinkin' and he did…did some bad things.'

Her face fell and concern stretched across her features. She took his hand.

'What kind of _things_, baby?'

'I'll show you.' He pulled his hand gently out from hers. 'If you promise you won't scream.'

'Daryl – you're scaring me!'

So he lifted off his shirt very slowly and refused to meet her eyes. 'Don't scream.' He whispered again, almost pleading this time and showing her his muscular, six-pack stomach before turning around slowly to show her his back. She gasped. 'He did _that_? How?'

'Yeah. With his belt, mostly.' He replied like it didn't matter.

'Your father – your own father did that to you?' She cried as her tears began to flow. He turned round and saw the pity and horror that he couldn't stand to see in her eyes. The reason why he never showed his back _to anyone_, yet Merle had found out by accident. But his brother had screwed around enough for both their lifetimes. His scars were even worse and they hadn't stopped _him_ being with women. But then most of them he had paid. Or they were junkies who'd do anything for a fix and they hadn't cared who they had to fuck.

Not many decent women but then they wouldn't look twice at a _Dixon_.

'Why?' She began to sob.

_Because I'm a murderer – I killed her_. 'No reason.' He said stoically. _But Daddy was right – in the end he had murdered him too when he couldn't take no more. Murdered both his parents – was damned to hell for sure. He was bad, bad, bad! Despite what Merle had said. _ _Deserved to die, deserved the punishments. And he was a no-one, would never amount to anything. _

But he didn't tell Beth any of her he only replied, 'Just a mean drunk, was all.' He shrugged. 'No real reason.'

The scars felt like they were burning, especially the two long ones from the knife that criss-crossed his back. _Must be with the shame_ he thought ironically and almost laughed out loud at the thought of his scars, _his body_ being embarrassed.

Her tears were making him feel worse so he put his arms around her and tried to kiss them away, tucking the stray, rebellious strands of blonde hair behind her ears. 'Don't cry for me, sweetheart. I ain't worth it.' But she didn't stop.

'How?' She repeated, sobbing. '

'His belt and cigarettes mainly. Sometimes he cut me there with his Swiss army knife but not very often.' And he had a couple of long scars from where his father had cut him crisscrossing his back. Daryl replied like he was giving an old weather forecast he'd heard on the radio from another life as his mouth twisted into a bitter, sarcastic smile.

_Now would come the real test – if she would touch him, even with his scars or would she turn around and be disgusted?_

Oh my God!' she gasped and pushed his arms away, still crying. 'I can't deal with this.' 'I'm sorry and I promise I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to. But I can't.' And she leapt up and left him without looking back. As if he was the devil. As if she couldn't get out of there fast enough.

He didn't bother trying to go after her and he didn't blame her for running away from him as fast as she could. He really didn't. Probably it was for the best.

He looked at his back using the long mirror on the wardrobe and a large hand-mirror he'd found. Had never guessed that cons were so vain – maybe they liked to compare battle-scars too. But he'd never looked at his back for years – couldn't bear to. Examined the thickened whitish and faded pink raised ropes of scar tissue.

Yet his brother had touched him there - when he'd stroked his back through his thin shirt, of course. And he must have felt them. Had known they were there.

_She was right – he was hideous although she hadn't said it and no woman would ever be able to touch him. His scars were disgusting – sick fuck knew what he was doing when he made them. Made sure that his punishment for being bad would always be seen by others and they would know just how ugly and worthless he really was. _

But he remembered Carol's reaction – she'd given a little gasp and then asked him about them but her eyes hadn't been filled with pity or horror. Just recognition and understanding. Like his back had confirmed something she had suspected all along._ And most importantly - she hadn't cried_ _for him_.

Merle was right – Beth was too young – he should never have allowed her in his bed in the first place – was only ever going to cause trouble. And what if she told everyone, despite her promise? How hideous and ugly he was. How his father saw fit to punish him because he was _bad_. He couldn't stand to see the same looks in the others' eyes. Them knowing that he was once weak and vulnerable, had allowed his father to cut him and whip him. _And do other things but thankfully they didn't know about that_, he thought with a shudder.

What if her father and Rick found out that he'd been messing around with a barely legal teenage girl? And he was nearly 40! But maybe the old rules no longer applied. Human beings were a rare commodity these days. People were getting together who in another life would never have said 2 words to each other.

Beth was far too young and too inexperienced – in life, hell, the way she described her childhood, he'd never heard Herschel so much as raise his voice to her or Maggie. Certainly never hit her, he intuited. What he would have done to have a father like him or Dale who were always calling him _son_. Merle and him could have had a chance – neither of them were stupid. Could have been someone one day with different parents.

Hey – but life was a lottery – sometimes you got the winning ticket and other times, you got dealt shit. Just had to deal with what ya got. But now of the course the playing field had been levelled for people like him and Merle and they, the survivors, the hunters, the _warriors_ had finally come out on top.

Everyone looking at _him _to protect them, keep them safe. He had a job to do.

Maybe he'd lost Beth but he weren't gonna lose anyone else.


	18. Chapter 18: The Gift

**AU- supernatural. I'm enjoying playing round this theme – that the brothers are no ordinary brothers. Part i. is linked to the end of Chapter 7 which explains the dream. This chapter also includes flashbacks to earlier parts of the story – hope this doesn't confuse anybody! I like experimenting with time-lines. **

i.

It was a beautiful mild summer's day and Daryl thought it must be early summer – maybe May or latest, early June as he lay down on the grass. The woods surrounded them and a gentle, warm breeze wavered the grass and made the leaves rustle. The flowers that danced joyfully (did flowers ever feel happy?).

They were in the place where they were _safe_.

Where they could relax and be themselves without fear of their father's shadow looming over them. When Merle wasn't out robbin' or screwin' around and gettin' high, that was.

But today, Merle was here by his side. His brother was sitting up, crossed-legged, facing him – his blonde hair waving in the breeze. His face handsome and unlined, not yet prematurely ravaged by drugs and bad living like it would become. Looking like a younger version of their father. Prominent, high-cheek bones with a tall, lean body, he looked like the archetypal fierce blue-eyed Viking warrior.

_A face to break hearts._

A cloud crossed the sun and Daryl shivered.

'He's coming for ya, little brother. For all of ya, but especially for _you_, boy. He ain't _finished _with ya, yeah, he's _dreaming_ of _you_.' His twenty-something brother drawled and rubbed his hands together as his lips twisted into that familiar, hateful leer. And he licked his lips – all the more grotesque on his youthful features. Because it belonged to someone far more older and jaded. And Daryl trembled involuntarily at the threat implied and his heart was beating like a jack-rabbit in his chest. And of course Merle noticed his reaction. _He _always _knew _how his brother was feeling. But Daryl clenched his fists resolutely and stubbornly jutted his jaw out. 'Don't let him get his hands on you again.' His older brother warned him. 'And _especially_ not on Beth or Carol neither.'

The birds stopped suddenly singing and Daryl's ears pricked up. A chill ran through him.

'Told the bastard I'd kill 'im.' he retorted defensively, sitting up suddenly and facing his brother antagonistically.

In the far distance, thunder rolled over the hills, threatening rain and lightning and the brothers looked over at the source of the sound simultaneously. Then looked back at each other. Neither spoke. But the sun continued to pour down its gentle heat onto their bodies.

Still no bird-song.

'Time to keep your promise then, _boy_. You'd better toughen the fuck up, littl' Darlena. 'Cos I ain't gonna be there no more to protect ya.' When the teenage Daryl looked up at him in blue, wide-eyed abandonment and accusation, Merle quickly added, 'Not 'cos I don't want to. Don't get me wrong, littl' brother'. And he leaned forward to put a reassuring arm around him and Daryl rested his head against his chest. Merle chuckled and ruffled his hair fondly with his other hand. Like he used to when Daryl was very small.

'Why, where ya gonna be? Why can't ya stay and help us?' Daryl looked up anxiously at him suddenly.

'Because I gotta stay here. Ya _know_ I can't leave this place even if I want to. But like I told ya, I'm always gonna be here for ya, jus' waitin' for you here in our place. Ya knew _that_, you just didn't want to admit it. Don't worry, you'll make the right choice when the time comes.' And it seemed to Daryl his brother was fading, blurring at the edges and the weight of his arm around him was suddenly gone, despite his words that he couldn't leave. And Daryl grabbed for him but his hands only met with thin air. 'Merle!' he cried in vain, 'Come back!' And as his presence faded, he sensed another, darker one come into ascendance in its place. One that was blocking out the sun, as it began to turn early afternoon swiftly into dusk. But not before he felt his brother press something into his hand before he was _gone_. As the details of individual trees in his peripheral vision were becoming less distinct and merging into one and the vivid green of the grass was fading. But the joining trees seemed to whisper to him, through the rustle of their leaves. And he couldn't hear the words but he caught their urgent sense – 'Go! Go – get out of here! _Now_!'

Of course, the trees were on his side – he loved the forest, would it be so absurd to imagine that it loved him too in return?

Like a photo losing its focus, getting blurry. Felt the darkness coming over the land and with it some terrifying threat, worse than the Walkers, worse even than Randal's crew when they'd finally attacked. He felt its malevolent intent yet memerising pull – he didn't want to leave after all– he wanted to stay didn't he? However, with a final push of effort and his own will, he made himself leave. Couldn't even see the white flowers any more standing out from the green grass and glowing white as his head began to spin and he felt himself leaving, the old familiar sensation of being torn apart but with no pain and…

Woke up with a thump, found himself drenched in sweat and legs tangled up in thin, scratchy prison blankets, in a bundle on the hard, stone floor.

Alone.

_Fuckin' dumbass_. He'd fallen out of bed.

'Merle!' he had cried out loudly as the last of the dream left him, 'Don't leave me!' Before he remembered where he was and that his brother was dead. Seemed like he'd just left in time - if he believed in such things. Then, immediately the grief was slamming into him hard and fast in waves before he could get his emotions back under control. Refusing to let the hot tears fall or the threatening sobs rise from his chest, he pushed them back down until he eventually stopped shaking.

'_Cos Dixons don't cry. Don't be such a fuckin' littl' __pussy._

_Are ya gonna make me save ya sorry ass again?_

Then he heard light footsteps running outside his door but whoever it was too timid to come in. Carol knocked lightly on the door without popping her head around – she knew better than to intrude on his grief. He was likely to lash out, state he was in.

Not like Beth who would have just burst in once-upon-a-time without knocking first. Would have just leapt on top of him and barrelled him over without warning, probably. With kisses raining down on his face. And a knife twisted in his chest at her absence.

'Daryl – I heard you shouting in your sleep. Are you OK?'

'Fine. Go back to bed. Sorry if I woke you up.' He answered her more gruffly than he meant to. Heard her footsteps as she went away without another word – he knew that she would be hurt because he wouldn't let her in but he couldn't deal with her as well as his grief.

Needed time by himself to deal with it on his own. Ain't no-one who could make it better.

Couldn't deal with another person asking him for something that he couldn't give. He just didn't have the energy. Maybe later.

But he'd forgotten something he realised as he unclenched his fist and looked what his brother had given to him. Something that made him finally give in to the grief crushing his chest.

He let it fall gently to the floor, as he sobbed quietly, an uncrushed, unwithered white flower with a golden centre at its heart. Merle had given him the flower that he had always taunted Daryl for sniffing - the Cherokee rose. Called him a 'Sissy' or a 'Pansy flower lover'. Had threatened to tell their father just to make Daryl tremble.

But he never _had._

Daryl dried his eyes eventually and didn't question how his dead brother had given him the flower in _dream_ or how he'd got it in the middle of winter. Or how he could be 14 and together with him when Merle had left when he was 10. Dreams often didn't make sense. But had Daryl himself picked up the flower somewhere and kept it somehow and forgotten about it? Carried it into bed with him as comfort? But he didn't remember.

But then he _did_ recall the last words his brother had whispered to him in the dream – 'Remember.'

'Remember what?'

Was he going crazy?

He got back into bed, picking up the blankets from the floor. Stretching and yawning after placing the rose carefully on his bedside table. Made him think when he'd given the same rose to Carol to comfort her. But her daughter had never come back.

Merle never knew about that – he was sure but now he was doing the same thing for Daryl? What did it mean? What was he supposed to remember?

He made a grab for it, was going to rip it up, wanted to destroy it in a sudden fit of rage because he didn't believe in that _superstitious_ _shit._ Sounded like some story his Mama would have told him, back when she used to tell him bedtime stories. But something stopped his hand in mid-air.

_Fuck Merle. Fuck him for leaving him. _For taking Michonne, for taking on the Governor by himself. Had he thought he could really win, alone?

The fuckin' arrogance. Always thinking no one could touch him.

'_You can't do it alone, brother_. _Not anymore.' _

One of the last things Daryl had said to him.

Had reached out to touch his shoulder, seeking to make a connection but Merle had got all embarrassed and shrugged it off. Then he'd left and Daryl had been too late to save him.

Made him remember the last major threat of Randall's crew when Merle was still alive. After Beth had run out on him.

He remembered the way she'd been the next morning at breakfast. Couldn't meet his eyes when he'd mumbled 'Mornin' at her when he'd rather have avoided her. But he couldn't in front of the others. Knew she felt guilty but it didn't help him when he remembered how she'd run away from him.

Unable to deal with his past, his _shame_.

If other people _couldn't_, how was he supposed to be able to?

Had run out on him like all the others.

He hoped none of the others noticed the sudden coldness between them – probably not, they were busy preparing for Randall's people's attack any time.

He didn't have the patience to deal with her – a teenage girl.

His fault for messing with what he shouldn't have. Should'ave kicked her out of his bed the first time she'd slipped into it.

ii.

They'd been preparing all day for the imminent attack, some people like Maggie and Shane still doubted Daryl's information – he could see in their eyes when they looked at him. Thought they were wasting their time – he heard their grumbles.

But they still obeyed Rick's orders.

Like before when Daryl had insisted on searching for Sophia. After three days of useless tracking and searching, cutting up stinking dead Walkers to examine their stomach contents, the others wanted to give up. He'd listened to them bitch about what a waste of time it was – especially Shane who went on and on about how she was dead for sure and they shouldn't risk their lives any longer for a dead girl. _She'd gone and that was it! Everybody should look out for themselves!_That they had to _conserve their resources and their strength_ _for the good of the group!_

_Heartless bastard_.

Wouldn't even look for a lost child – Daryl remembered how when he'd missing for more than a week as a boy, had been with his grandfather but hadn't known known it then and no one had even noticed he'd been gone. Daryl didn't like Shane – later on he would be sure that he'd killed Randall – OK, he wasn't crying over that worthless piece of shit but Shane had lied to everyone about it. He was sure. And he'd murdered Otis – sacrificed him to save his own worthless hide and then lied about it. Because why did he still have Otis's gun? But nobody else seemed to be suspicious – except Dale who also didn't like the big, brash man either. And Daryl had been hurt by another big, brash man when he was young.

_Hurt badly_.

Yeah – Dale was smarter than he looked. And Rick had swallowed Shane's lies – couldn't see through him or refused to see. Daryl wasn't sure which. Rick was blinkered to trust that snake in the grass. Despite the show of fraternal camaraderie that they put on for the rest of the group, Daryl could see the men circling each other, like two cobras preparing to strike. Daryl hoped that when Shane finally struck and bit Rick, the leader would be ready for him and bite back. It was clear to Daryl that Rick wasn't happy with his position of second-in-command. And that he wanted Lori back who he had stolen from his 'best friend'. Anyone with two eyes could see what had been going on between Shane and Lori, everyone that is apart from Rick who _didn't _want to see. No, Daryl guessed that there would be a reckoning of sorts between the two where Rick would fight to keep what was his and Shane would try to take back what he had stolen from him. Wouldn't put it past him to shoot Rick in an _ooh –so_ 'tragic' hunting accident. _I couldn't see through the trees – I thought he was a Walker!_ Yeah, right. Kill his best friend who could never see past their shared childhood where they had grown up together like brothers. And Daryl liked Rick – respected the calm leader who always tried to do right by everybody. However, the irony of the parallel between him and Merle, who were _actually_ brothers, escaped Daryl.

Hell, he thought – it might even be interesting to hang round to see who won out. If it was Shane, Daryl decided he would probably leave, even it meant leaving Carol. He wouldn't want to stay with that _asshole_ in charge. He'd seen him drunk after the celebration dinner at that medical facility (their happiness there with that crazy-ass doctor who'd tried to kill them had been very short-lived) getting rough with Lori. He'd been walking down the corridor to his own room when he'd heard raised voices and heard her, distressed, telling him to stop – and poked his head inconspicuously around the slightly open door. Neither had noticed him, they'd been too intent on each other. He'd been about to rush in and punch the arrogant prick's lights out (it was a good excuse to do what he had always wanted to do) but then she'd managed to fight him off. So, he'd left and turned down the corridor before one of them saw him. Daryl hadn't wanted to draw attention to himself anyway – he had only just arrived. But he would have done. Hell, his brother did that enough for the two of them and not the good sort of regard neither. Daryl didn't want other people tarring him with the same brush as his racist, redneck brother. He was still figuring out whether he even wanted to stay with these people – he didn't need them. Except Carol. He had needed her and Sophia if he ever found her. And the rest of the group's squabbles and problems weren't any of his business anyway.

Back then, he hadn't cared about them but now he'd lost the only family he had left – his brother.

iii.

Later that day, with still no sign of Randall's men approaching, he'd bumped into Beth again in the kitchen. Lori wasn't there to take his daily offerings of 2 braces of half a dozen squirrels for dinner. So he had to give them to her and they were alone.

'I'm sorry I ran away from you.' She'd whispered, meeting his eyes for the first time. Afraid that someone would find out their secret. 'It was just the shock.' And he saw the pity, the _guilt_ in her eyes. He couldn't stand to see either.

'Sorry for what? I don't need ya fuckin' sorries or ya pity.' he hissed in her face, trying to keep the anger out of his voice but failing. 'Carol and Merle were right, ya too young.' He snarled ferally at her but to himself, he muttered, 'Should never have got mixed up with a _kid_._'_ Then turning back to her, he told her, 'From now on, ya stay away from me, ya hear? Don't want the the others to get the wrong idea about us.'

She flinched away from on the other side of the table but hissed back, 'I'm nearly 18!', as the tears fell from her eyes. Dripping down onto the wooden table. As she slammed down the dead animals he'd given her to cook and ran out of the kitchen. He was just thinking about whether he should go after her – _shit_ - he could never stand the sight of _her_ tears, all anger already forgotten even though Merle would have said that he was weak for letting himself be pussy whipped. But then Lori came in at the moment and gave Daryl a filthy look. 'What did you say to her?' She scowled at him. 'Have you been upsetting her?' But she didn't go after Beth either, just stood where she was, hands on her hips, glaring at him.

'What's it got to do with ya, ya stupid bitch?' Daryl yelled at her and _she_ didn't flinch. Never got scared like Carol or Beth – not _her,_ not _Queen Fuckin' Bee_. 'Cos that bitch had never liked him, was always looking down her nose at him like he was so much dirt under her shoe. Was always ordering everyone around. And he'd just had enough of all of them. 'I know about ya and Shane when Rick was away.'

Lori didn't say anything but went red, probably scared that the others would hear. Then she slapped him hard across the face. Not caring that she had thought he was the just the kind of man to hit her back. But _he_ _didn't_, just clenched his fists at his sides. 'I don't have to explain anythin' to you but I thought he was _dead!'_

'Yeah and you were _so_ upset that ya waited a real long time before ya opened your legs for Shane.' He retorted. 'Get out of my way, ya fuckin' bitch.' He snarled and then rudely pushed past her before he turned round on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen.

'Ya finished here, Dixon!' She yelled after him.


	19. Chapter 19: Ambush

Chapter 19: Ambush

This chapter is about the grim days before Randall's people's attack. Who is going to survive and who is going to die? Will Beth and Daryl get back together or maybe something happens to stop them?

Some references to consensual sex, perhaps between two unexpected characters.(I don't have a lot of experience of writing about this subject - hope that it is realistic.)

i.

The third day dawned and still no sign of the enemy. Rick sighed - the waiting would be far worse than the attack when it happened.

He turned to Daryl, Shane and Herschel. 'We gotta do something', be proactive. We're sittin' ducks.

Daryl's eyes narrowed thoughtfully, looked round the circle of men. 'Then, let's not be. I say let's take out these dumb fucks, if they're anythin' like Randall. I say we scout them out where their camp is. Probably waitin' to ambush us at night. Must be in the hills somewhere.' he jerked his head back.

Rick nodded and Shane glared at Daryl. 'Why does _he _get to say what we do?' He asked the leader antagonistically. And Daryl glared back, just as balefully.

'Back off, Shane.' Rick answered calmly. Looking at both of them. 'I know you boys have your differences but this is life and death and the safety of the group we're talking about…'

'Fine, fine.' Shane said but he still eyed Daryl coldly. Sending him a silent message. _We're not done yet. _And Daryl eyed him just as balefully back. _Do I give a fuck_? This silent exchange went unseen or deliberately ignored by the ex-Sheriff.

'Right.' Rick said finally. 'I'm going to send out a scouting party but some of us have to stay here in the prison and protect the group. He looked over at the Dixon. 'Daryl, you're with me where your tracking skills are needed most. Shane - you stay here with Herschel and Dale and protect the group in case Randall's people attack us at night.'

And Shane opened his mouth to protest - it didn't escape him that he was being excluded again in favour of the upstart redneck but decided to keep his mouth shut. It didn't escape him how Rick looked at Daryl - with new-found trust and respect and he felt a stab of jealousy. And some other emotion that Shane was at loss to identify.

Of course, his best friend had never looked at him in the same way again after he'd found out about him and Lori. Wasn't grateful to Shane for keeping her and Carl safe - the boy he'd loved like his own - it was just the keeping safe bit that had got out of hand and turned into something else. What with the Walkers and constant threat of death hanging over them.

And anyway, they'd thought Rick was dead.

Rick should have been grateful to him.

Shane silently nursed his grudge and bided his time until he could get rid of the redneck once and for all.

Him and his racist piece of white trash brother both.

Rick and Daryl made their way into the hills just like they'd done a year ago when they'd been looking for one lost little girl.

They didn't speak as they scouted the hills with Daryl leading the way. The younger Dixon, unlike his brother, was never much of a talker anyway but every now and then he would signal silently to his companion. He was trying to follow tracks - looking at marks in the barks of trees or trampled undergrowth but he couldn't find any and it was getting dark. And Rick was tempted to ask him to try to use his gift but Daryl had said that he couldn't always go walking when he wanted to. And he never suggested it himself.

Every now and then they would bump into a lone Walker or a small group of them, in various stages of decomposition but easily dealt with and they would put them out of its misery.

'It's too late to turn back and maybe there'll be herds of those things out there.' Rick said finally.

'I don't know about that, we haven't seen many. And this area ain't very populated.'

'Yeah - but you know how they get more active at night.'

'OK. Let's find somewhere to bunk down for the night. I think I know where there's an old hunting lodge. About a mile from here.'

'Right then. I'll follow you.' Rick said.

'Do you think they'll be OK without us (Daryl meant with _Shane_)?' He was worrying about Beth and Carol, knew his brother could take care of himself.

'I'm sure they'll be fine. Shane was protecting the group before I found them again.'

'OK.' Daryl replied thoughtfully, not sounding terribly convinced. Anyway, it was getting cold and he was beginning to shiver as he took out his colourful poncho from his bag. Rick did the same, pulling his sweater on. They grinned at each other for having the same idea simultaneously.

'Come on.' Daryl urged, touching his shoulder.

After about an hour of walking - Daryl said that maybe the lodge was a little further than he remembered, they pushed open the door and gasped at the musty smell.

'Better than nothin'. Daryl muttered, wrinkling his nose. Remembering when he'd stayed in a similar place when he'd got lost as a young boy.

Luckily there were no corpses of the owners - half-eaten or otherwise. In the early days of the plague, people had killed themselves rather than be devoured by their neighbours. Of course, this place was pretty isolated.

But there was a bed - just one and a fireplace with a few mouldy logs on it. Daryl took out his hunting knife and sawed at the end of them, until they had firewood that would burn. He got the fire burning while Rick scouted the place for Walkers- in the tiny kitchen, the closet and the outhouse.

'Ain't no-one there. We're safe.' He announced. Daryl had even found a couple of tins of beans in the small larder and they cooked these and ate them gratefully. Because they hadn't planned to stay overnight - had thought that they would have found Randall's crew and be able to report back by nightfall.

'Will they be worrying about us?' Daryl asked when they'd satisfied their hunger. Eating their full didn't take much these days.

'Hope not. I told them we didn't know how long it would take but that we'd be back as soon as we can. Maybe take some of them out if we could.'

'OK.' Daryl answered. 'Lookee, what I found.' He held up a dark bottle of rum that he'd discovered in an old cupboard. It was mostly full.

'Do you think we should?' Rick asked cautiously. 'What if we're attacked in the middle of the night?'

'Then at least we won't care.' Daryl laughed. Then he unscrewed the top and took a big swig. 'Still OK.' He said. 'Dunno 'bout ya but I ain't touched a drop of decent liquor since we left that crazy doctor's place. What I wouldn't do for a joint too right 'bout now.'

'Yeah, you're right.' Rick took the bottle from Daryl and took his own swig. Then stopped. 'No, let's be civilised 'bout this. Go and get two glasses from that cupboard.' And he pointed to it. Daryl rolled his eyes at him but did as he was told.

Later, when the bottle was nearly empty, they lay on the bed together. Rick was drunk and started rambling on about Lori, how he still loved her but he didn't know whose the baby was. How he didn't know how to put things right between them. Wasn't even sure if Lori still loved him back.

Daryl listened carefully but said little. Didn't talk about him and Beth 'cos Dixons don't _share_.

Anyway, what could he say? Ask Rick for love advice? It was over anyway before it had ever really begun. And Merle was right - probably Rick wouldn't approve. He was like that. _Righteous Rick_ Merle called him.

He was just dozing off, his back turned towards the other man, they're bodies not touching when he felt Rick put his arm round him.

His first instinct was to shake it off and push the other man away.

But it was only a _brotherly_ arm - like Merle.

So he didn't.

_Harmless. _Anyway, he liked Rick. He didn't shout or yell. And his voice was soft whenever he spoke to Daryl. And Daryl liked that.

So he didn't move.

'I miss her so much.' The other man was saying but he was gently turning Daryl round to face him. 'I don't know what to do.' Rick confided, his voice breaking.

'I love her so much.' He repeated but he leaned forward, his lips moving towards Daryl's until they were almost touching until the Dixon flinched back. But then he let his lips touch Daryl's - a chaste kiss.' But she don't want me back.' Rick said.

But Daryl recoiled, pushed him away.

ii.

'What the fuck?' Daryl yelled. The adrenalin getting rid of the fuzziness in his brain from the drink. As he drew back his fist and punched the leader in the face. Out of panic. Got up from the bed, backed into a corner, swinging his fists, ready to fight if Rick came any nearer.

Rick wiped the blood from his nose but stayed where he was. 'Sorry.' He said. 'Guess I deserved that. Dunno what made me do that. Must be the drink. Can we forget about this? Not tell the others?'

'Like I want _them _to know. Sure. As long as ya know I ain't interested. I ain't no gay.'

'Neither am _I_. Things are getting more and more messed up. I mean - between men and women.' Rick explained. 'Men and men, women and women too.'

They fell into an awkward silence. With the largest distance between them on the bed and not facing each other. But Daryl still kept expecting the other man's hands to go wandering again with some weak, mumbled excuse.

All over_ his_ body.

But they didn't.

The other man began snoring. Then he looked over - eying the other man's lean body through his clothes. Felt an unexpected physical response - _down there_. After all, they'd all got leaner and muscular - most people had lost their fat reserves from before. When they'd had machines to do all the hard work for them before they had to start hunting and gathering like in the stone ages. Had less food but better food. Of course, they'd gone on looting expeditions to the local stores and supermarkets but it was dangerous with all the Walkers around, especially in the cities and populated areas.

_Fuck it_ - he weren't no homo fag.

But he liked Rick - he really did.

Maybe never admitted to himself exactly how much.

Daryl scooted over to Rick and kissed him on the mouth. Until the other man responded, opening his. Didn't seem disorientated, even when woken from sleep or surprised.

'I ain't no gay.' Daryl whispered shyly and Rick laughed and pulled Daryl's head (and his mouth) closer to his. 'And I don't like other men.'

'Neither do I but I've always wanted to do this since …' Rick began.

'Since ya met me?' Daryl teased, one eye-brow raised.

'Not exactly - since you tried so hard to find Sophia. When we went tracking together. Ya didn't give up (_Not like Shane - he heard what Rick didn't say)._' And Daryl laughed and kissed him again. This time it was deep, prolonged kiss. And when Rick began to undress him, to take his shirt off, he couldn't help flinching at his rough, calloused hands when they came close to his back.

Even if they were gentle. He'd expected another man to be rougher, more uncaring, not taking it slow and careful like Rick seemed to be doing.

Yet Daryl was trembling and Rick noticed this and his flinches and stopped. 'You want to stop? We don't have to, you know that, don't you?'

'Yeah, I know. Ya think ya could make me do anythin' I didn't want to do? Ya treatin' me like a _woman_?' And Daryl snarled but then kissed him. A long, deep kiss this time. 'Ya couldn't make me do nothin' I don't want. _No-one _can.'

'I never...never been with another man before.' Rick confessed but Daryl said nothing in return. And then the Leader ran his hands all over his body, hovering hesitantly over his back before he started touching him more intimately. And Daryl knew that he'd felt his ugly, old scars and knew what they were but he didn't say anything. Didn't ask who'd done that to him. And Rick's eyes didn't show shock or pity, only quiet understanding as he nodded.

Best of all, he didn't start crying like Beth. Or run away from him.

They didn't speak any more that night.

iii.

Merle was the first to see Rick and Daryl and something about the way they were walking together made him narrow his eyes.

Saw Rick put his arm round Daryl's shoulders and his brother didn't flinch from his hand like he always did when other people touched him but even _leaned _into his touch.

Something weren't right.

They were talking, moving, like they were close.

Something had happened, he was sure. Couldn't put his finger on it.

But he was gonna drag it out of Daryl later when all this was over.

Later on in the meeting, Merle leaned back against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. Outwardly, not caring about the fate of the group but listening intently to Rick and his brother reporting back.

Watching them together closely.

'We found their camp on the third morning.' Rick was saying 'And we launched a surprise attack at dawn. They were mostly out for the count, been drinking it up with beer and whiskey all night before. We took 10 of them out between us, thanks mainly to Daryl and his crossbow and got away without a scratch.' He nodded over to the Hunter and smiled admiringly at him.

Merle watched them suspiciously. Their prolonged eye-contact didn't escape him as they looked deep into each other's eyes but no-one else seemed to notice. Too busy bleating like scared sheep, waiting for the wolves to come down from the mountains and attack their pen.

Pick them off one by one.

Fuckin' stupid sheep waitin' to be slaughtered.

He despised them all and in that moment, hoped that the enemy _would_ come and kill them so that he could have Daryl all to himself again.

'Cos Daryl was _his._

'There's still 20 of them out there.' Herschel said. 'And they got weapons, ammo.'

'Do they know about us?' Glen asked.

Daryl nodded. 'Yep. They know about the prison people and they want to kill us and take it for themselves. Randall's friends got away, remember?'

'They could even be in with the Governor.' Dale added shrewdly. 'Maybe he even gave them their weapons and ammo. Despite our temporary truce.'

'But you killed 10 of them. Maybe they'll get the message and leave us alone.' Beth piped up naively but addressed Rick, not at Daryl.

Rick was about to explain but then Daryl turned on her instead. 'Ya really think they're not gonna wanna come here and take revenge after we killed their people? Grow up!' He snapped at her more harshly than he intended and she recoiled while Herschel and Maggie glared at him.

Everyone staring at him, shocked.

Daryl shook his head. 'Sorry.' He apologised. 'It's been a long day.'

'Don't you speak to her like that _ever _again.' Her father warned Daryl and made a threatening step towards him.

'Yeah, baby brother. Don't talk to _her_ like that.' Merle mimicked sarcastically, as a sly little smile played round his lips while his eyes mocked them.

'Now, let's all calm down.' Rick said. 'It's been a long day for everybody and we're all under stress and we still need to be prepared. For _when _not _if _they come here.'

After everyone had left and sentries had been placed around the inner perimeter to warn of the impending attack, most people left to get as much sleep as they could.

iv

Merle finally cornered him outside alone where he was smoking and drinking a precious beer that they'd given him in celebration of his and Rick's small victory. He was doing extra sentry duty although it wasn't his turn because he was too wound up to sleep. And he'd rather see the enemy coming at him before it got there. It was getting chilly and he drew his poncho in closer around him.

Like it didn't matter that they might not win the war, even though they'd won a minor battle.

'Well, well, little brother, looks like you and Rick are the heroes of the hour even if don't matter tomorrow or the next day or the day after that when they come and slaughter us all. Yeah, let's just stay and be killed with them. Sacrifice _ourselves _for them when they ain't even our blood or kin.

Daryl sighed wearily and got up to go. 'What do you _want_, Merle?'

His brother strode over to him and grabbed him by the throat. Shoved him angrily against the perimeter fence while Daryl struggled and dropped his cigarette to the ground.

Merle got straight down to business. 'I wanna know what happened with you and Righteous Rick the Prick.'

'Don't call him that!' Daryl fought and finally got free of his brother.

'Ooh, you defending his honour, little brother?' Merle taunted. 'I see you and your sweet littl' girlfriend are having problems. And I seen the way he looks at you. Ya all chummy now with the leader?'

'Ain't none of ya business, Merle! Keep ya voice down!'

'Tell me, _little brother_, what happened with Rick when you were all alone together.' Merle's tone was soft, inviting confidence.

'Nothin'. Daryl muttered and looked down at the ground. He hated it how his brother knew everything about him. How he could have no secrets from Merle.

Like he could read his fuckin' mind.

_Always could_.

'Don't lie to me, little brother.'

'What's it got to do with ya who I fuck?' Daryl hissed in rage at him. Then realised that he'd given himself away. 'Stay out of my business, ya hear? Jus' 'cos _you_ can't get any.' He sneered and enraged, Merle got hold of his brother and slammed him once - twice against the metal fence. While he cowered back.

'Did he force ya? Hurt ya?' He hissed. 'Cos he must have done 'cos there's no other way. 'Cos no brother of mine is a fuckin' fag.' Merle shook him. 'And I'm gonna kill him for this, torture him slowly before I do, for a long, long, time.'

'Leave him alone! He didn't make me do nothin'! 'Sides, I can take care of myself! We just had too much to drink - we agreed it was a mistake - things got out of hand - it ain't never gonna happen again!'

'He must have _done_. What did he make you do? Did he make you suck his dick first?'

'Fuck off, Merle. You don't know nothin'. I ain't gay. Was jus' a fuck was all. Didn't mean anythin'. Jus' a couple of drunk guys, bored. Don't tell me you didn't do the same when you were stuck in prison.'

'That ain't the same!' Merle roared. 'I didn't have no choice! There weren't any women!' Enraged, he tried to punch his brother but Daryl was expecting this and dodged the blow. Then punched Merle hard in the stomach.

Leave me alone!' He growled at him. 'Ain't got nothin' to do with ya.'

His older brother gasped and sucked in his gut as he fell to the ground winded. But changed tactic when he realised that he couldn't bully his younger brother anymore. 'I understand.' He gasped placatingly as he got up and brushed himself off. 'I really do. It ain't ya fault. It's 'cos of the sick shit_ he _did to you when you were jus' a kid, it would screw anybody up. Make them think they were one way that they weren't…' Merle reached out to touch Daryl's hair but he backed away.

'Shut the fuck up! Why does it always have to come back to our fuckin' Daddy? He ain't got nothin' to do with it. And he's fuckin' dead besides! And I ain't gay anyway, neither is Rick. And ya better keep ya mouth shut, not stir up trouble. I mean it this time, _Merle_.'

Why did everyone - especially his brother and Rick - act like he was made of glass? Yet they expected him to save them, protect them.

Treating him like he couldn't make his own decisions?

Treating him like he was so damn _vulnerable_?


	20. Chap 20 'Cos we can never get back time

**Chapter 20 'Cos we can never get back time we lost.**

**Daryl/...?**

Do Daryl and Beth finally make up? Will Merle confront Rick about Daryl? Sorry, I teased in you in the last chapter with this question but didn't answer it. Anyway, here's some more consensual sex, but between who? It's quite explicit, so please don't read if it will offend you. I hope that it is realistic – I don't usually write about this subject.

The tedious business of watching and waiting went on after Daryl strode angrily away from his post. Driven away by Merle who had guessed the shameful truth.

Why _shameful_? Why did he feel so ashamed? They hadn't hurt anyone. Rick and Lori were good as separated – the Leader couldn't even look his wife in the eye and he'd broken up with Beth.

He was jus' drunk, was all, was experimentin', didn't mean he was that_ way_.

But somehow his brother _knew_.

Like he always _did_. And Daryl had to stop him from going after Rick.

Because Merle thought that Rick had hurt him, taken advantage of him, like he wasn't a fully grown man capable of defending himself against another.

Or of saying _No_.

But Daryl knew that it was guilt. Merle seeing every man as a potential threat to his younger brother.

Treating him more like he was his kid sister than a kid brother. Overprotective and jealous.

But it had been_ good_ with Rick, better than he had expected but it weren't ever gonna happen again.

He didn't have to stay up for these people – it was his turn to rest and he'd done more than his fair share for them.

But he had wanted to.

Daryl's thoughts turned to his ex- girlfriend's face when he'd yelled at her during the meeting.

Couldn't help it –just came out. And he hadn't meant to lash out at her sometimes he forgot how young she really was. And Merle had been there – laughing at both of them with that gloating, knowing sneer. And Daryl had wanted to punch his lights out then and there just to wipe it off his face.

And no-one had even given him a break just because he was _young_.

He sighed. She would never forgive him now she was probably scared of him.

And who could blame her?

He couldn't always control his temper, had rage stored up enough for a lifetime, had a sharp tongue in his head but that didn't mean he was like his father.

He would never _hurt _her. Well, not _physically_ anyway.

He hated violence, avoided it if he could but that didn't mean he was afraid to use it. Merle had always called laughed at him for that. He'd always revelled in it – dragging Daryl along for the ride when they'd been reunited again.

Of course he made some exceptions- for scum like Randall of course.

And sick fucks like the Governor.

Later that night – he'd eventually gone to bed but couldn't sleep. Too wound up, his bed felt empty when he'd heard the light patter of feminine footsteps outside his door. And _her_ knock at his cell-door.

'Daryl...' she called quietly, hesitantly. Expecting him to curse her, send her on her way.

'Beth..?' He answered hopefully, just as hesitantly. All rage gone out of his voice.

'Can..I ...Can I come in?' She asked. 'Do you still hate me? I missed you.'

'Me...me too.' He confessed as she poked her head around and tip-toed quietly in. He lowered his eyes shyly and looked back at her, like he couldn't believe that she was really there, that she had come back to him. In that same damn transparent peignoir where he could see nearly everything again. _Kid was trying to seduce him again. _He looked at her like she was some sweet apparition while she hung back shyly as if she wasn't sure what to do next.

He made the first move by getting up and gathering her in his arms. She clung to him and pressed her body against his. _Kid was willing._ And he kissed her hair before his lips found the way to her mouth. Then he lifted her up so that her feet left the ground and swung her round in circles joyfully. While she giggled.

'Why did ya come back to me when I was such a fuckin' asshole to ya?' He gasped when they took a break to breathe.

'I don't know.' She replied, tossing her blond mane behind her. 'Cos ya such a grumpy old man.' She joked, punching him lightly on the arm and he laughed with her.

'No, I knew you were angry with me.' She replied, serious all of a sudden. 'I ran away from you. When you showed me...No wonder you hated me.'

'That don't matter now.' He picked her up and laid her down gently on the bed. Started to touch her breasts, the place between her legs, felt the moisture already there. She arched her back in pleasure.

He pulled up her gown and kissed her down there – she wasn't wearing any underwear – same as last time. A normal kiss with his lips then slipped his tongue in without warning. He saw her eyes widen in surprise and then she moaned.

He used his tongue on her and she looked at him and he saw in her shining eyes that she wanted him...it... as much as he did.

Then he suddenly withdrew – knowing that she wanted more.

Teasing her as she moaned in frustration and pulled his mouth down again to between her thighs.

But he resisted – pulled himself up to face her.

'Don't stop.' She begged.

She wondered how he could be so good at giving pleasure when she'd guessed he didn't have much experience.

But he had to make sure. He weren't no brute like his Daddy – he weren't gonna do no forcing, no punching or kicking. _Taking_ without giving pleasure.

_No hurting_.

'Ya forgive me for being such a bastard to ya? For yelling at ya? In the kitchen, in the meeting?'

'Yes!' She said impatiently and pulled his head, his lips down to his and kissed him furiously, deeply, as her answer.

And if he'd had a doubt, she took off her thin peignoir, showing him her breasts and her perfectly flat stomach. Her softly rounded hips and plump, youthful skin. He ran his hands gently over her body and he felt his desire stirring. But then she pushed him off her and moved so that she was the one on top.

He let her do whatever she wanted.

'I like it better this way.' She explained and began to slowly undress him.

And he flinched like always when her hands brushed his scars but she didn't take any notice. Could never seem to be able to control his body's reactions. But she wasn't shocked or surprised like the first time.

Didn't look up at him with those big, blue eyes filled with pity.

Treated him like a _man_, a normal man that she wanted.

A desirable man. Not someone scarred, broken, damaged.

She pulled off his pyjama trousers then straddled him in her haste. 'Now, where were we last time?' She breathed before she started to moan and as his hips began to buck, thrusting into her.

They found their rhythm and he grunted. Reaching up to touch her breasts hesitantly.

Playing with her nipples. He knew that it increased her excitement.

Holding back, as gently as he could when he felt like he was going to explode any minute.

Managing to climax more or less at the same time. She couldn't hold back her scream as he covered her mouth with his hand.

Hoping to God no-one had heard them.

He rolled off her and put his arm around her. Held her until they could get their breath back.

'Again?' He asked her after a while.

He saw the answer shining in her eyes as they started over again...again...and again...


End file.
